Silhouette

Am a dreamer, but lately the images that form in my head, are no more than dark silhouettes, taking no true shape, facing no true direction, like my dreams are slowly being pulled away into a void, like the beauty of these thoughts are being painted over with a brush, a brush that paints everything I see as dark and shapeless, turning dreams into nothing but nightmares and fright. 

The warm glow has become a cold dark aura around my soul, chasing away every shimmer of hope until all that’s left is a frozen path, the sweet echoes  of my own heart beat going silent, as if frozen in time with no resonance to truly match it, all the intensity of feeling and the light that came from dreaming has gone dark and stale. 

I wander in search of the light, of a place that’s warm and bright, I move in hopes that the one thing that defines me will no longer be the one thing that makes me feel lost, this darkness is all that surrounds me, a black fog covering all that I know and feel, it almost feels like falling, like falling into nothing, falling and never landing, like I am suspended or more like being held still by a tiny string that is bound to snap from all the weight in my head, 

I wander in search of a light, of a place that’s warm and bright for I no longer want to be a dreamer who is too afraid to dream. 

©M_Collins

Both sides of Balance

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The storms meet at the peak,

thunderclaps with light in between, 

the chaos kisses the peace, 

rain drops bringing the heat, 

her fears where what gave her peace. 

Her soul is a tree, 

which feeds on tears,  

drawing its life force, 

from all that she dreads, 

the very water that gave her life, 

was the acid she claimed left her bare. 

The loneliness met with hunger, 

insatiable lust with love right under, 

her favorite victual,

a tear that makes her wonder, 

if the world was the end or just a ladder. 

Like a book with twists, 

like an explorer in search, 

of all the light she radiates, 

and the source behind the core, 

which she claim she forbade, 

it wasn’t warm, 

it wasn’t quite cold either, 

but like all things, 

its up for debate, 

Distance met the destination, 

fate met with coincidence, 

two sides to every part, 

light and darkness, 

bonded in perfect abeyance, 

both sides of a beautifully balanced whole.
 
Love and life went on a date, 

they met with hate on pain’s  gateway, 

the storms that surrounded raged on, 

almost like it was fate, 

that the very balance, 

of all we knew was a lie and a fake, 

With a singular message that spake, 

Things are not always as they say. 

©M_Collins 

Dark bloom

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. 

. 

A drop, 

another, 

and then a million, 

as the rains come crashing down

on dry hopeless soil

It tumbles in contact, 

breaking the surface,

Seeps in and lodges 

in between life and breathless air. 

A seed from a tree, 

a fruit or nut, 

sitting on the surface, 

by chance? I think not, 

call it fate, say it was meant to be, 

destiny has weaved another thread. 

A bond is formed, 

a sweet romance 

and seed became one with drops of rain, 

lifeless air their chaperone.

Life is born from chance, 

as the seed cracks open, 

oh the pain, but without the growth cannot be, 

from chance a life is born, 

sprouting from the surface, 

How will destiny decide?

Is life stepped on? 

Is life plucked and eaten by the beasts? 

Or does it bloom from nothing but lifeless sand drops and chance? 

A meeting of fates wheel, 

predestined to be from times beginning. 

Fate decides, to toil with life a little longer, 

The sprout becomes a shoot, 

roots taken strong to the soil, 

what was once lifeless has giving life to a seed, 

a beautiful irony, one of natures loopholes maybe, 

needing more than just stem to survive, 

it grows sprouting leaves to connect and catch more life.

What was born from the darkness, 

needed the light to bloom, to live, 

another irony from life, or is it fate at work, 
The land is dry and air is stifled, 

the seasons go by like clockwork, 

but the sprout still stands, 

with more leaves to show for each circle survived.

Dancing on the leaves was a spider, 

weaving one of natures greatest structures,

On the stems a larva feeding of the surface, 

but the roots remain strong, 

the life born of darkness now supports more life.

The sprouts bloom further, 

A beautiful bud formed, a disease? 

An anomaly? 

A sign? 

Or just a process? 

The bud blooms from the sprout, 

opening up with bright colors in display, 

the beauty calling out to meet with creatures for a relay. 

The wasp dances closer, 

smelling the sweet nectar 

from a life born of darkness, 

the bloom on beautiful display, 

with bright colors anything could hardly miss, 

at the ready to get boarded, 

with sweat pollen spread, 

the cycle begins anew

its nature at its finest.
©M_Collins