Papers strewn across the floor,
Wind that’s knocking on the door.
The stars above give off their light,
Casting shadows that fall between black and white.
Steam rising from a coffee cup
Relinquishes gravity of every tear drop.
The pen, moving swift, comes to a stop,
Interrupting the rhythm of its natural waltz.
Still, Memory weaves its way through,
As snow tumbles down without an adieu.
Its presence is comforting, cool to the touch,
The glass of the windows is frosted as such.
Frustration comes and then it crumples
The parade of thoughts escaping is just as rumpled.
Half-scribbled sentences, erased with haste,
Suddenly regain a sense of grace.
Hands stained with ink tap-dance against the cedar,
Running parallel to the speed of an experienced reader.
Feelings and thoughts escape to the page,
Running wild with emotion that’s been trapped in a cage.
The bird’s song, in flight, is only half-done
A lullaby serenade that cannot be controlled
Woe and joy submerge at low heights
Then rise to match the level of the Northern Lights.
Dimming, fire disseminates to dust,
Resembling the remnants of smushed pie crusts.
Over and yonder this hollow feeling pervades
As silence creeps in and suddenly fades.
A wand, the pen, ignites into flames
Streaks of red and gold that dance in the haze.
Fairy dust glitters on the ceiling above,
Allowing the Christmas rose to shine with love.
Lonely hearts cannot be cured,
Troubled thoughts make them feel insecure.
Fingers reach toward the box of Turkish Delight;
It was a dark and stormy Christmas night.