Your Poetry Dot Com - Dreaming and Drowning

Wings of Dragonflies are magic,
so they seemed to me,
woven draw of waning light, prelude to night,
oh, blessed setting sun;
they zoom the room of earth,
flitting, smashing, shattering our unadorned sight
in brilliant hues, myriad shades,
light kissing my eyes alone;
here on edge of this perfect dimpled pond,
dragon rainbows winged,
inches over placid water in hum, thrum and skim.

Soft, satin soft,
a million insects, frogs....life,
chirping, burring in harmonized concert,
every player their own maestro heedless to the whole;
no silly humans here but me,
no first chair, the best...such foolishness
in blessed innocence unaddressed, left;
my pond, MY pond, a liquid ode to peace and life,
seeping in with love of all, my very skin breathing it,
pore to pore;
oh! seduction!
now, begging sleep to simply become,
embrace this bliss,
nature/'/s kiss even ever all the more.

Gossamer breath softly to life
by thought alone,
my comforter woven, spun
threaded contentment a spindle dance
as silly gold tossed in piles below,
trampled as nothing, comeuppance of fools,
for those Midas shiny hardened souls;
thence the nether land of dreams drew me weightless,
millions of grassy fingers,
whispering each,
“Below in the pond, below, below,
see the real, leave this show…..slip and slide below, below.”

Donning the wet, open eyes breathed
new silence of mute delight
but, fast,
fright finds berth,
joy of a sudden still born in slushy slithers,
my humming concert (above?);
warmth, smiles, love
starved of air,
gone, all; not there,
fled in liquid wither.

Pang of alarm- a snapping turtle took my toe,
a stick of butter cut less show, gone-
while hard on heels,
pain on gurney wheels now,
a darting carp twice nip, nip to slip, slice away my ear.
Crawdads forming ranks, stirring dank
the rot of what I/'/ve left untended,
with beady eyes, black and hungry, clicking pincers all advance;
terror full blown now,
fear fed fear whilst drawing near
I fought in vain,
sought regain the grassy heaven left an eternity,
but a minute past,
this forever, stone like,
falling in powdered swirl of death.

Upon me as a wraith, a battled catfish,
torn finned, scarred as only harsh survival paints,
gurgled and burbled to my ear,

“Welcome home, forget above, abandon love,
you saw and tasted what it means.
Ah, dear fool; both mechanic, tool,
this is home, and that the dream."

This poem is Copyright ยฉ invierno