Emerald Dreams (re-post)



Folds of onyx cloak

 conceal malachite eyes

flashing sideways in a clamour and rush

swiftly lightly past

leaving no impression

following the merest hint of borrowed memory


of the escape that only waves can offer

the waters edge is filled with obstacles

neverchanging and walking upright

indifferent and unaware of the call

and depth of ocean tears

homesick landbound landlocked

emerald dreams

its pull felt strongest in the twilight

the boats will sail setting forth scheduled

gears and calculations moving importantly in unison

in stately unmagic

a cloth of obsidian left puddled in a corner

will rouse no comment no curiosity

while malachite eyes now filled

with coolest aqua and gratitude

earth free abyssal bound



About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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