Monday, January 28, 2013

Walking after midnight

Dark and quiet, no animals, just you.  Ferns and leaves long brown beneath you, canopies above.

A trail of hard-working lace, intricate and purposeful, left like breadcrumbs in this forest so you can find your way home.  Pieces of a vintage quilt you'll sew together one day.

Your hold your discovery in your mind, alchemist for a day, that day when you took red and blue away from purple and saw how it was made.  The darkest mix of hot and cold, blood and truth.  

Separate perhaps, at least for a time.  You see now they were never apart.

How much blood does it take to get to the truth?  Follow its river, study its stains.


11 comments:

jon said...

You are obviously a poet, however, I will refrain from rearranging your lines into some sestets and a quatrain. It is not my place.

Nicole said...

Not sure Jon. If I were I poet, I could rearrange them myself.

JMH said...

But you wouldn't.

Nicole said...

JMH - how well you know me.

JMH said...

Yeah, it's nice.

Nicole said...

Agreed.

jon said...

It's been a while, huh? More please.

Nicole said...

It has Jon, not sure what the deal is. I miss it though.

jon said...

Every six months or so, I'm going to tell you to write more. And this should no means be the impetus to write more, this is not harassment, but rather just a reminder that people like to read what you write. Err...I do.

Nicole said...

thanks for the reminder Jon

jon said...

Keep in mind I also can listen.