* The Jen Network *

One night I stood
On a hill and saw
A star that had your eyes.

Tears of a Cloud

It's dark out,
and I can hear the rain
beating its rhythm
against an unseen pavement.

I don't know why,
but I am looking out the window,
watching it pass in and out
of the street lamp glow.

I should be asleep
like everyone else

But instead,
I am awake,
and wondering odd things
like...

Why is heaven crying?

and

Does anyone else notice?

Dream Lover

It's three a.m.

Two hours before my alarm rings and life begins once again.

I wake slowly and ease to your side of the bed, waiting for your arms to hold me in the silence of the morning. A ritual I've enjoyed for many years.

I try to snuggle close to your warm body, a vain attempt to quench the fire building in mine at the thought of you.

And yet I can't feel you; you're not there. You're not real. Just a dream, you're a figment of my lonely imagination: a memory and a future that I have never really had.

And once again, tears fall from my eyes. Yet another ritual, but this one I don't enjoy.

Dream lover, why must you be so real?

My patched and lonely heart cries to see you aren't next to me in the morning, and yet recalls you every night to lie with me, easing my pain through the night.

Because of you, I am alone in this world of lovers and love.

And yet I remain a dreamer, determined to make it through this hell. And yet again I curse my fate, turning my tear-streaked face from the clock so determined to mark my eternity as only fifteen minutes.

Forgetting

Barely out of my dreams
I turn to his side of the bed
Forgetting

I try to curl up
Next to his warm body
Forgetting

I wait for his loving arms
To encicle me as we lay
Forgetting

Forgetting that he's not here
Anymore.

Why I Am So Incredibly In Love With You

When I yell and scream
and throw a general fit,
you don't interrupt me:
you just sit there
infuriatingly silent
until I'm done
then offer me a hug
and your shoulder to cry on.
You're comfortable
to lean on when I'm tired
and feeling a mite lonely.
You look at me
when I talk to you:
you don't get distracted
and you understand what I mean
even if I'm not saying it.
You don't mind me grabbing you
in the middle of a nightmare
or a scary movie.
You have green eyes.

Harlaxton

The view from my window was breathtaking
and so I decided to take a short walk around the gardens.
The ground was wet and the air still smelled of the afternoon shower.
I walked quite a distance in a short time;
forgetting that my feet were city-clad, I slipped and sloshed through the mud and the puddles like I was a little girl again. The path I followed had been made by a tractor and I followed its ruts to a garden set far into the trees.
Suddenly I was surrounded by columns and trees that stood tall and straight, reaching for the sky as if to say:
here we are, neither man nor god, yet tell us who is mightier?
I scrambled to the top of one of the stone enclosures and seated myself like a foreign queen on some stolen throne.
I could feel the fog enveloping me, subtly leading me off my perch.
Looking out I saw the village shrouded in its usual early evening glow,
as the January sun slowly began to set.
I returned to my room, weary and sore;
yet as I stand at my window I realize that tomorrow I will do it all over again.

Everyone's a critic

It hurts. ("Did you write this?")
So much pain ("Where do you get your ideas?")
Inside me: like an angry god ("Do you really feel like this?")
Raging to break free ("Has this ever happened to you?")
And breathe the air of mortality. ("It's good - Excellent, in fact.")
Death ("You're very talented.")
Becomes freedom; ("I don't know how you do it.")
To die has become ("But...")
The only reason left ("Can't you write happy things?")
For living.

Welcome to the Birth of Morning.

The hum of clouds above your head.
The sunbeams jumping out of bed.
Yawning blossoms half asleep
Baby Robin starts to peep
Madame Colour prepares the sky
Rosy banners set on high
Mother Earth is shaking the last dewdrops from her hair
All is set, no room to err
Comes the moment ripe for crisis
But as announced, the sun arises

For sale: one used heart

Bruised slightly
Cracked a bit
Broken easily
Mended but still fragile

When did I realize that you were really gone?

When I awoke holding only your pillow, again, last night?
When I got the mail and found your magazine is up for renewal?
When the baby cried "MAMA", her first word, and no one answered?

Maybe it was the night that the mall closed early and I just had time to buy that book that you wanted so badly for me to read...

No.

It is now that I've finished the book and look to your chair to tell you that you were right, how much I love the book and, as always, how much I love you.

Now, I realize you are gone.
Never to be with me again.
And I can never tell you how much it hurts to know that.

Did you like it? Huh? was it any good?
Return to my Collection of Ramblings and Fiction index