Charming

Charm me, darling

Perchance I forget

 

“Behind every song is an untold story,” he said.

With a gentle nudge

He whispered, “Come dance.”

 

The notes began from silence

And in the still, I fell

Drunk on him

 

Time signatures filled the room

Apollo cradled Calliope

As the music played on

 

Lyrics overtook me

Words slipped like honey from my tongue

I spoke

Of never-ending summers

Starry nights, we chased till dawn

Of sea shells and ocean waves

A siren’s lilting song

Candle lit moments

Before time left me wondering,

Is there any poetry left?

 

He pulled me closer

As the music played on

 

Music painted on silence

Gave wings to my soul

Strong magic

Lifted me from the ashes

 

He kissed my broken

Poured the poetry back in

As the music played on

 

~ Apollo and Calliope

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Beautiful Moment

 

He turned the dial on the radio. Another voice took over, silenced the demon. This voice scorched through his skin from surface to core. Notes rose, touched the ceiling and dropped to the floor. The alto voice admonished and enchanted as the lyrics hugged father and daughter. Nina Simone, “The High Priestess of Soul” punched the tiny room with passion and spirit, nestled herself into every corner, tucked her soul into each cupboard and drawer.

Cygnus Aratus

Cygnus Aratus

I stepped through the forest and stood at the edge of a pond

The surface rippled forth to kiss my feet

Unexpected, a flash of red

A black swan glided, weightless upon opaque waters

 

Slowly it circled

Majestic, proud, head held high

Enchanted, I stood.

As if illustrated on the pages of a fairy tale.

 

 

 

 

The Messenger

This is a draft version of the narrator’s “voice;”I will continue to polish the piece. The narrator’s name is, Justus and he is about to leave on a mission. It is from a fictional piece I am writing. This chapter is in the narrator’s POV.

 

“Justus, Get up! Hurry.”

 

Urgent words enter my dream. Their pitch notes rising as I attempt to ignore. The voice calling in my ear speaks louder. “Justus wake up.” I push the covers away from my somnolent body and rise.

“It’s your turn. Go.”

Hurrying to the meeting zone, I stumble, the residue of sleep lingering in its peaceful hold, as I step forth. Pushing back a lock of dark hair and coughing to clear my throat, I straighten. It is time.

I belong to a group of watchmen, messengers from the past; we work for the present and future. Our mandate: listen to another’s story, understand and give voice to it; we are conduits between the souls and their living. The universe is made of tiny stories.
Some people call us angels, which we are not. We are messengers, invisible souls; we walk alongside those lost to grief and sorrow. We know your stories well; we are kin.

Imagine a crowd of people, all strangers. Yet, you pause, turn around and take a second glance back. There is familiarity in a gait, knock, or smile. Something about the way that individual speaks captures your momentary attention. You swear you’ve seen that someone before. The sighting haunts and returns. You believe in happenstance yet you are wrong. Events occur for a reason.

You are never alone. That deer you saw, at the precise moment your mind recalls a loved one’s fondness for all rural fauna is not coincidence. The clock that chimes on the anniversary of a loved one’s death, the one you thought broken, is planned. Consider carefully. The face you see, as it flashes by, in a newborn’s glance. Remember these souls from your past.

 

Every family is an infinite circle of souls. It helps to envision this symbol of continuous unity. The circle enlarges when new members are born or brought in. When death knocks, the circle shrinks. As long as the members hold to one another, reaching forth, the thread that connects remains strong. It is only when one lets go, steps away; when no one reaches back, that the thread that binds, breaks. That is when we enter your world.

It has been awhile since my last assignment, * years to be exact. I recall the details of that mission: to stand beside a family member. Can hope triumph? Love heals; there is nothing it cannot conquer.