A River of Stones

A River of Stones

Bright promise beamed in adolescent eyes
in days before responsibility;
so many ways to understand a world,
that somehow, evaded current design.

Each tomorrow was a promise in three
syllables, a prayer upon saint’s lips.
No sun could harm our skin or alter plans
made under the eaves of an apple tree.

But dreams devolved into wishes wasted
before we ever realized, they’d died.
Bitterness was handed to our children,
before the cherished fruit was ever tasted.

Now withered dreams, that wail with hurts and moans
through scorching skies, push through rivers of stones.

© 7.15.2011 (tag prompt,title)

Rainbow Trail

Rainbow
Trail

Intellect and artifact combine,
a divine derelict; memories
mysteries, comedies, tragedies,
cramped with crowded sensibility.
Psychedelic interpretations
of deluded well intentioned plans
clandestine imps pouncing with odd grins.

Such are the waking dreams of my nights-

taking control of realities,

breaking all the dimensional plains

into indiscernible frights.

Ramblings of psychotic familiars

race to mind as jumbled confessions.

All my transgressions merge in their eyes.

Yet, wakening arrives, and I rise.
Their eyes remain in utopia.
Each labored word and breath ignorant
of the dystopia within them.
Hands groping at brilliant rainbow trails
deceived eyes perceive as elegance;
visions further veering them to hell.

©Denise-Marie Fisher 6.2011