If there is so many people in this world, why are some of us left alone?

My eyes played tricks,
not moving to the monitor
but pulling toward
that sound of sipping tea

The soft whooshing captured my focus.
Mind following eyes - -
I was on my back
basking in the sun - -
gazing at the clouds

Her emanation was sapphire blue,
emerald green tinged crimson
at the edges -  -
monitor and mind together went
blank. I sat in a trance
until the emotion crept

slowly up my neck then down my back.
She gave me a glance.
She finished her tea
shuffled some paper, left the place

A dancer without music,
the glide out graceful.
Her glimmering aura disappeared
as she faded into the day

The moon is now bright and full
showering silver romance,
to the leaves of tree so dull.

A cricket humming his chants
deep in meditation behind
the dark unknown shrub's branch.

Somewhere in a nest, a hatchling can't sleep
letting out feeble hunger cries
her mother did not fetch enough to feed.

While on my walk, I see those eyes
hiding behind a trunk, peeping
I assure it safety, I know may be lying

Night is the time for them to be,
struggling to enjoy independence and security
this unending night leading them to the unknown
what will remain I wonder at the crack of dawn.

~~~


what do i know
that hasn't been written
the past i throw
the future not given

each syllable speaks
through ancient valleys
through pica peaks
through rain soaked alleys

when i run, my friend
i feel too much
in the world at its end
I'll recall your word's touch

when i read
your thoughts impart
the spaces between you bleed

your ink into my heart



soulsurvivor
(c) 7/26/2015

This shattered house
  I've found myself surrounded by
Breaks a little more each day
   The walls I've built and plastered
Are peeling away layers of guilt
    Hanging mirrors with shadows of reflections
    Ghosts of ink spilt
This floor, these bricks, the cement out the doorstep
     Pavement falling apart from where so many shoes have walked
   Decorated with outlines of broken hearts in chalk
      If these walls could talk
They'd tell stories of rage and pain,
   Of the misery born into its foundation
           Day after day
If these cupboards could hold as many secrets as those walls have heard
    Of the lies they've tried to hide away inside, they would burst
      If you could save the tear drops that have fallen under this crumbling roof top
    Then you could drown this dilapidated house
       Bury it alive with no doubt that the years of emotion and agony it's kept hidden inside
  Will easily and willingly have peace when it dies
       The color of the paint would simply be forgotten before the end of the day
     The torn and rotten foundation would just be ripped away and replaced
  With stronger cement at its base for someone new to cling to
      And new walls and paint for another soul to suffer through
  But this shattered house still stands
      There's no plans to rebuild all these shards of my broken heart splattered on the ground
   And nothing will ever replace my soul when this house falls down

~Christi Michaels~May 2015~

I sense the wind
across my skin
goose bumps rise
         to your touch
         calloused hands
         fingers know just
         how firm to grasp

the light rain
Knowin' of a
storm a'blowin
           Your lips settle
           on mine
           wet~slick
           firm and yielding till soft

We are nestled in these
suspended moments
between precipitation and
an all out squall
          Your fullness climbs into me
          finding my breath
          I inhale the quiet before...
          exhale, inhaling the Fresh of You

as this storm unfolds
pounding down seedlings of spring
rinsing all things clean
         I am awash with you
         unbridled passion having
         survived a prolonged
         season of thirst and drought

☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆•☆
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.