Eccentric Tea Woman

  This is the time when we must stop what we are doing and listen, listen, listen To what our ears no longer pick up. To what we have denied ourselves for the longest time. This is the time to rise, phoenix, sending flames to everyone, a fire baptism . Reach deep within ourselves and pull out the dream. One impossibly long, aching dream, escaping sighs from our lips Trying desperately hard not to scream when the knowing ends A nd the forgetting  g oes finally away. This is old, very old, our dreams, primitive and brown and black Rough edges, smoothed over by time and wants that increase with speed and haste. This is not what I had hoped for. As a witch, I dreamt of flying over little towns, Like a bird of prey, silence my guide, my dream of dreams And still it comes to this never-ending cycle of my questions From which there is no answer, only my dreams and my stained soul have to offer (not much) I want to finally see again, like so many others, those with the eyes that spark...

                                                                      “This is what happens,” she said “When love has been given and thrown away.” Her face, something I want to forget . So many lines, each a sad tale , Each one a reminder of how weak she used to be. Eyes dull yet  still have the occasional spark Created from defiance from rejection given. Not too late - her mouth says although her lips Do not move, only I can hear her thoughts ; Such anger caused her to deny movement To any other part of her body. Bitter, hat eful , the cycle played out over and over Till she is dead, her body becoming organic  - Dreams fading away.  

  Tonight, she wore the red dress That makes her skin glow; you Know, the one we all wished we had. I probably should have realized That underneath it all was pure jealousy And that she was better off when she Wore her standard black. The dress came from a small store Now closed and covered in dust. I never went there; never wanted My own moment of godlike status. My glow is darker than most Due to my sinful thoughts and Exploration of sensual foods. I Made it clear for them to pass me By and forget my name.

  She placed a leaf from the dying oak tree On her desk to remind her of the world Outside the cubicles. No one asked her why she had such a thing But only stared in silence Laced with misunderstandings. She never told them why N or did she care to. Her leaf swayed to a tune that only she could hear.

  One drop of blood Is more than sufficient As a sacrifice among sinners And pagan saints. Purging all that is holy Gives up more room to defy the order And begin something new. Those that hold the ropes Claim they never wanted it to happen; Foolish mortals were never quiet. Inside of this In spite of this Denial of this, never that Under frightful eyes With glass sharp tongues. Revenge is a cup of warm jasmine tea, sipped slowly, In case if there was something missed. Forget all that has been learned And focus on what is here For there can never be another Time.