Lately

 

Lately my dreams,

Don’t wait till I sleep,

They pool on my pillow,

Like the tears that I weep,

They open the curtains,

To the demons I slayed,

Giving life to the shadows,

And the battle’s replayed,

*

Lately the memories,

Are too much to bear,

They blanket my heart,

I can feel myself tear,

The night is the baker,

That kneads at the beast,

It feeds on my guilt,

And my blood is its yeast,

*

Lately I waken,

Each morning adrift,

The repose of the blameless,

No longer a gift,

The devil is coming,

And he’s calling my name,

The refuge of daylight,

No shelter from blame.

She Is Me

Time again for ‘Friday Fictioneers’. A weekly 100 word fiction prompt hosted by the ever creative Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. I’m addicted and proud, get yourselves over and read the others, even better, join yourself. A bit like turnip, how do you know you don’t like it if you never give it a try.

20140528-092920-34160364Photo : Jennifer Pendergast

She is the other part of me, the light to my dark. Like the wind that whistles through the trees, she is my freedom and my release. While she dances in the sunlight, I wither and fall. While she walks through the barriers, I turn and I run. She is the colour beyond the grey walls, the grass that is greener and the dreams that evolve.

She holds out her hand and bids me come over, but the fear I carry is too strong to ignore. I feel the gap widening, the mist closing in. Maybe tomorrow I’ll walk through the door.

Time To Let Go

 

When I was young I thought as a child,

Life was an adventure to play and to hide,

Fear was for grownups and alarm was ignored,

Worry was distant and dreams were explored,

*

But as I grew older the veil fell away,

Life was much harder with no time to play,

Worry and rejection were everyday fears,

And dreams of adventure were washed away tears,

*

But now I’m the woman of the child I remembered,

It’s time that I salvaged the dreams I surrendered,

It’s time to find love and time to find hope,

And time to relinquish my hold on the rope.

The Weather Vane

My Sunday foray into flash fiction. Al’s Sunday Photo Fiction, around 200 words of fiction based on his weekly changing photo prompt. Get yourselves over and read the others, give it a go…

 

61-05-may-25th-2014

The wind was building, weaving between the tall oaks that wrapped around the meadow. She didn’t hear the first shot, didn’t see it pass overhead.  Nor the second, but she felt the force of it hit. A force so powerful it knocked her clean to the ground. Dazed, she put her hand to her side and flinched. Lifting her palm she saw the blood seeping between her fingers and burning bile hit her throat before everything went black.

.. She opened her eyes, to the familiar scent of her bedroom. The pain under her ribs nearly took the breath from her body.  A shadow came from the corner

“What the bloody hell did you think you were doing, you could have been killed falling off that roof?”

“I thought I could help”

“I told you I’d take that old bloody weather vane down when I finished work” he roared.

She remembered climbing the ladder, tools in her waist band. The sun warm against her back. Then as she touched the weather vane a sudden flash of white; a girl on a horse, a cloaked rider chasing behind and then the blood. She put her hand to her side, no gun shot.

“You and that damn curse, I told you it was rubbish” Her eyes caught the roof through the window, the metal vane glistening in the sunlight, to and fro,

“Perhaps” she said, as her hand once more moved to her side…