Her hair trembles
In the breeze, carried away
My friend, she sits there every
day
Through the window, ocean bay
Black hair in a ponytail
In her small hands a turquoise
sail
So blue is the sky
It is joyful energy
Just as waves move
In kinesis. Sand bitten, seas
steal
A luscious sandwich meal!
Thoughts chewed along the
edges
Just as she bites her lips
While sitting by the window sill
Does she see her father, still
Swimming in the sea?
Like he told her once before
In water, man is truly free
She's not a swimmer, my friend
So don't close the window
She likes to sit by there
And watch the ocean style
The beach; in sine
Till her damaged thoughts align
And she can turn around, and
smile
And be my friend once more
For tonight's a stormy night
She'll close her eyes
When others fall asleep
That's when she cries
And I'll lead her, hand in hand
To the window sill
Sit by her and watch the seas
Until the tears don't spill
Desperate to lose herself
She'll watch the waves
Let the water wash the pain
I know I'll never stave
A silent specter still as a statue,
Trapped in time,
Still and silent sitting on the window sill,
Pondering what she had done to become trapped in time,
Her long hair lifts off of her shoulders in a long forgotten wind,
Her curly red hair framing her beautiful face,
You can see the love determination and a fierce hope in her eyes,
Like a breeze over water her silent mournful cry for her angel lover,
And she shall long for him until judgment day comes.
My Mother has been gone for quite awhile now
Written By Dean Masciarelli
November 8, 2009 (6:50pm)
My Mother has been gone for quite awhile now
And it is hard to imagine all the years
that have already gone by
Since the last time that I saw her
Yet every now and then I will pull out a box
That has her hair in it and some pictures of her
And I will open up the box for a little while
Just so that I could smell her hair and her perfume
Because when I have days like today
When I really miss her with all my heart and soul
Some how it helps me
When I hold her hair in my hands
While I am smelling her perfume
as I am looking at all of her pictures
Because it brings back so many
wonderful memories when she was still here
Skin pale white,
her hospital gown,
a moth filled wedding dress.
straps and shackles tie her down
like a corset;
more buckles and ties than Harry Houdini.
she frantically turns
toward the door
like a two year old
throwing a temper tantrum,
her hands wrapped around her body,
hugging her own hips.
Fingernails cut down to the cuticle
just in case she had any ideas.
Dirty blonde hair becoming static
as if she rubbed a balloon on her scalp
a head of tranquility, restless hair from sex.
Panting,
like a winded dog chasing its ball,
Her lips caught me off guard,
They were blue, not like
the cold midnight sky,
but a body
bound for hypothermia
longing for freedom from restraint.
That is my psychological diagnosis
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