Dark Traveler
Days like these I wonder if I am living. It is like watching the wind blow the leaves as they pass my window. The sound of them echo while falling. Am I just the echo in a space of oxygen? Do I leave echoes as I pass on by?
Thunder forms when my mouth opens. Days of chaos disturb my peace. I see the birds fly above my head and wonder, "Do they sense my disaster?"
In the middle of a complex space, the crickets call my name. The wasps try to land on my fear. What is happening?
Time no longer exists. The sun's shade never changed. Then I wondered, "Am I really here or is my mind dissociating?" My body is not moving yet I am everywhere.
S. L. Cline
The Power Of Imagination
Stars can be purple.
The sky can be pink.
Superpowers can be real.
And you can fly with a wink.
Glitter can light up the sky.
Rockets can be the new car.
Magic can come from any object.
And a thought isn’t hard.
The ink on a page can float in the air.
The pages of a book can vanish into our heads.
Ink can disappear after being written.
And things can magically happen while laying in bed.
S. L. Cline
Release
You.
Made me hate myself for loving you. Your silhouette follows my every move. Whispers of your utter sayings stay in the vents. Walls decorated with passionate fits. Clumps of debris infect my skin. I need help from you. An escape from the fortress of rue. Show me, Heaven. Hold my hand, take my spirit. My soul I must submit. Just to be purged of their sins.
S. L. Cline
Written Perspective
There is something about words that sort of tell you about a person. The flow, rhythm, etiquette, etc. So beautiful, so delicate. Some harsh, some playful. Some are full of horror. It makes me wonder if other people thought the same thing. Maybe, that beauty is why some read the first sentence and realize it’s a prize. Or if it is a great fall. Brilliant pieces come from falling. I then begin to wonder if the fall is more beautiful than the rise.
S. L. Cline
Face to Face
How long can I keep this up?
Lying to the image in the mirror.
The dreams and whispers for you, I no longer hear or taste.
Now, I sit here with that look on my face.
I rave for the both of us.
Wondering who will fight first.
We hate each other, therefore we walk right past the mirror.
We hoped it was a mirage, but it has always been the trigger.
S. L. Cline
Eyes
They never knew how to see. They never know how to respond to me. When times are not what they seem, they feel I need to please. All to make me feel like a sleaze. All it would of took was to listen to the wise. Instead, they wouldn’t even open their eyes.
S. L. Cline
Mentation and Perception of Sorts