Amberina Ballerina

A born lioness my untamed heart? ha! a mouse, this pulsing token ruled by unruly wants at times given, traded or stolen - sometimes thrown down on a dare to be won or lost till it became a paper tigress in tatters; regrets and rejections remorse and resentments flitted like fringe in the wind ..I played at life and life played me.. good times and bad vibes as random as Russian roulette ..five chambers of folly.. but that sixth was a b*tch.. bravado worn like a honeyed mane ruffled and bluffing rolling with -or- rolled by the wrecking ball of the spin to laugh and lose and tell - and live through duels between disasters and dreams.. alas, chivalry was lost in the gamble but not the likelihood of liability ~ I rummage through my psyche’s ruined luggage soul-searching with mood’s sentimental searchlight for affection connection lost in dark depths - I am but a ghost ship stranded on the beigy side of brawling breakers sails of self-pity hailed by greedy gusts with a sorrow’s lust - I pine for a pipe-dream dance in rapt thoughtful thirst for a cocktail blend of bay-breezy optimism swirled with vibrations of om garnished with a slice of the moon a pester of wagering pessimistic clouds lay odds upon the outcome of a trove discovered in a wistful cove - this wastrel's newfound fortune of amberina; satiny shades of Autumn’s bittersweet born of breakage and abrasion - frictional forces of joy and sadness dress the drift glass hoarded in the sea’s rabid bites of the shore then abandoned by the absent-minded backwash - ..forgotten like vague fractions of a song too long-ago to remember.. what passional tales these frosted bits of daystar could tell; a not-so-charmed journey; from virginal vessels of translucent wonder to shattered shards of a doomed sunset their fragility favoring the risks of vulnerability -- bygone blushing damsels damned by double-dealing recounting deceptions like a martyr or a saint ..or.. perhaps.. that’s just me.. lost to decades of accidental metamorphosis if only to reach another shore touch another soul ..maybe.. ..touch my own.. O harmonious forces of fate how do you orchestrate such feral instruments like time and place and distance to unite in tune with symphonized chords re-creating an irresistible lullaby worth remembering..? nostalgia rouses a stagnant ballerina to twirl on Swan Lake swells as faint echoes of quaint chimes reminisce with imagination; in an old-fashioned parlour with white lace doilies charmed by heady plum plumes atop silvery-green stems spooning contentedly in a tan wicker flower basket - a child sits on grand-mère’s old-world lap comforted in her lavender arms ..before her perfume and my mind were blown away by winter’s mistral winds.. enraptured as I was with an ornate trinket box with a musical belle surrounded by dainty forms of hand-blown amber-rose objets d’art before there were cracks in the glass ..could I ever be so enchanted again..? for the washed-up gypsy gems stripped of shine are worn and warm and wise and oh so familiar shaking my awakening with their loss of newness - their roughed-up radiance tinkers with my sense of awe rescuing my mood like heroic swords of sunrays slaying the night bloodletting the black out of incubus dreams soothing heavy-metal thoughts as comrades-in-commiseration croon storm-surge blues with weathered heartstrings’ of hard-earned hues - ..sympathetically with the empathy of a survivor.. and like me... are a creation of tumbling forces of man and Nature in a mind battered by diatribe tides over tossing dice through turbulent times - I behold an opaque odyssey in a handful of mermaids’ tears; broken and buffeted their buffed beauty defied destruction burnt orange and devil red pearls time capsules quiet with a vintage fire’s glow illuminates the amber marrow of a tigress-soul caged behind the mirror of a little girl’s music-box-memories — ..before the dancer’s spin into darkness.. pulp of my grief plashes upon relics of pain and love gentle splashes baptize despair and shame as contemplation undresses the looking-glass of inward reflection - recollections like sky lanterns lift from starless depths light-bearers intercede with murky horizons as flames are lit from ruby tips of sunrise surf ready to parlay shipwrecks and spindrift into gold - stray feelings of triumph and pride squint in the sun of self-compassion like skittish felines -shy yet hungry- they warily lap at the cream of self-worth finally able to reap redemption from reckless wreckage while finding peace in the eye of the hurricane ..frictional forces of sadness and beauty dress the drift glass -- and now - dress this drifter in a lioness share of indigo epiphany.. and... I realize that my coming-to-light was a fait accompli Susan Ashley October 30, 2020 ~ First Place ~ Premiere Contest: Inward Reflections Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke *wastrel: a wasteful or good-for-nothing person* *fait accompli: a thing that has already happened or been decided before those affected hear and/or learn about it, leaving them with no option but to accept it* *amberina: a late 19th century American clear glassware of a graduated color that shades from ruby to amber*