Would you pull over to pick wild flowers? While on a car trip to nowhere? Would you stop for the seagulls wail and the lakes sounds and ripples?
Would the wild berries, small but extra sweet and juicy, gleaming in the sun...make you eat them?
The dandelions, roots deep beneath the earth, would you pick them, knowing they'd only grow back again tomorrow?
Would you stop the ice-cream man for a dollar? Taste the orange of sherbert?Then roll with me down a hill of grass?
Would you lie in the sun all day, if only for the taste of it? Then look up at the marshmallow clouds and find pictures in our minds?Would they be the same?
I used to write music only now It's in my head
The notes play over The noise
I need to get it down on paper or no one will know
what beauty exsisted in my soul while my soul was only in chains...
I jump headfirst into the unknown
Swallowing sand I take a gulp of air
Swimming to the otherside Never touching bottom
Muscles Tense Lost within the Lake
Drowning I fall to my back Floating Never Relaxing
While you call my name...
Blue Clouds
Under the clouds today waiting for rain that never comes
Warm & Yet grey blue hues Fuzzy I bask in the heat that doesn't Exist From the sun that has Eluded me
I need it to come I want to feel the sun and rain In my eyes If only for a little while...
Within my soul A hot flame burns
I cannot feel To know The fire Engulfs me
Seeing is an illusion
I run Searching for the water Eluding me
I grow weak The fire creeping Too deep
I stop feeling I stop running I stop screaming
It begins to rain...
Arson Island
Black Willows marked by a sign am I a willow today? or am I black? Or am I both? I feel absolutely in between and that makes me feel nothing
The clouds draw me up into their floating
I sit on the cotton candy Whiteness and look towards the sun
I run floating almost off the edge
I lay down sinking into the empty space Enveloped by peacefulness
I sleep and dream of the rainbows waiting to take me home...
A Time To Cry
There has been no time for tears So I trudge through this daily existence we call life
I don't think of things I need to or should
I need to clear my head and focus No black and white thinking
so they say
Therapy
Where to go where am I going why reasons with no answers
The cobwebs are coming back I don't think they ever went away...
More poetry by Holly Back to the Yellow Brick Road