One In a Field of Follies and the Girl Who Watched From a Nearby Tree

There he sits in his chair, the world on his shoulders. Time may slowly pass, hour by hour, but his mind races in overtime, stopping for no distraction. He rubs his sleepy face into his hands, only to resurface and reveal a glassy-eyed stare...two deep pools of endless emerald sea grass. She would think they look like sea grass. His gaze at the computer screen shows no extreme interest in what tries so hard to keep his attention, but his thoughtfulness radiates from every pore. "What controls the inner workings of his mind?" the girl wonders and watches on, encaptured by his inner depth. There's a longing, a missing piece to who he is- a mystery never decoded, never pursued. The girl suddenly had the deepest urge to uncover the mystery of the boy...to see behind the troubles that trespass his mind, the padlock to his gated soul. To her it seemed his dark was the way and his light the place, but then who is it to figure the workings of one undiscovered?

My Sea

I wish that I could just give myself away, away into a dream, somewhere that would flow like a stream without that dreaded waterfall there to greedily swallow me whole, my soul. Don't hold back- just spill it out onto the floor, all the shards of me for everyone to see. A million asymmetrical pieces of my soul there for the taking. Look closely, magnify I in such small detail, see into the caverns I have hidden. Abandoned senses, I free fall into this oblivion of numbness where time and feeling and judgement are at bay and remain restrained from intervention with nakedness. A naked connectedness. It's alright. It's just me you see. There I go floating through infinity. 

Sylvia Plath- Polly's Tree

A dream tree, Polly's tree;

a thicket of sticks,

each speckled twig

ending in a thin-paned

leaf unlike any

other on it

or in a ghost flower

flat as paper and

of a color

vaporish as frost-breath,

more finical than

any silk fan

the Chinese ladies use

to stir robin's egg

air. The silver-

haired seed of the milkweed

comes to roost there, frail

as the halo

rayed round a candle flame,

a will-o-wisp

nimbus, or puff

of cloud-stuff, tipping her

queer candelabrum.

Palely lit by 

snuff-ruffed dandelions,

white daisy wheels and 

a tiger faced

pansy, it glows. O it's

no family tree,

Polly's tree, nor 

a tree of heaven, though

it marry quartz-flake,

feather and rose.

It sprang from her pillow

whole as a cobweb

ribbed like a hand,

a dream tree. Polly's tree

wears a valentine 

arc of her tear-pearled

bleeding hearts on its sleeve

and crowning it, one

blue larkspur star.

Superhuman

here. golden rays shooting down

ever so slightly kissing my body

warming my fingertips

trickling down through my veins

and residing in my core.

a whisper breeze tangles itself

within my wild mane

gently lulling me back and forth, back and forth

to the music of my rustling body.

wetness seeps up and through the ground's surface

to moisten my feet.

it shoots through me 

refreshing my soul, strengthening my year.

iam here! i am alive!

the whole world is changing, moving around me

the earth shifts, time passes

people walk, cars speed

but here i will remain, unchanged 

beneath the light, grounded in earth.

for some life passes

others life's stuck

and still others, "what is life?"

but this is my life

it's here! i'm here!

with my arms outstretched 

entangled within one another

and my fingertips stretching 

to an infinite sky, unending light

my help, i daily recieve

each moment, each breath

each heart skip and

every reason to be alive.

My Life Is...

an open book, pages unwritten, the fresh scent of bound paper...waiting to be filled, overflowed with fluid marking...waiting for unchartered land, beyond the expectation of others...weathered cover from the handlings of others, the battle scars of a journey...being filled, filled, filled with words, some familiar, some unknown, the world being recorded from one eye, one ear, one breath...life! being lived! being touched, grasped, kissed...the cosmos in agreement, the molecules in which our very existence persists, our very minds spin, our very hearts beat...the universe needs felt all over...dirty fingerprints covering the surface, explored, understood, wondered, swallowed, saved, marveled, taken in...a flower, petals tucked in, safe, protected, others fallen, trampled, weathered...the wonder of life...but the pages are colored, are smeared with watercolors... words run, run, run down off the page... don't need definition of beat... only that which colors, floats, runs away... that which reached down, creates... here, now, with touching and feeling and breathing in...an infinite and finite reaching down... to this earth, this very earth... to this life, an open book.