Walking along a white sand beach...
Our arms and hands,
Intertwined in each.
Our thoughts far away in each other’s lands.
The waves lapping onto the shore.
The beach busy, but still serene.
I’m sure I’ve seen this place before,
Some time and place in another dream.
Our fingers crossed and interlaced,
A gentle stroke through my locks of hair.
I feel suddenly and instantly displaced,
As I realize you’re not standing there.
A single set of prints I lay,
As alone on this beach I walk.
I notice then the sky is grey,
And there’s no one there to talk.
With a heavy heart a sigh escapes,
The wind carries it out to sea.
My dream within the ocean is raped
And pillaged so it can not be.
Lone prints being swept away
By the churning ocean’s grace.
What is it then that I can say,
For me to glance and see your face?
With the pleasant dream gone,
And the reality this harsh and cold,
The bitterness, jealousy and envy full on,
I have never felt this drained and old.
I need your love to pull me through,
And make me feel young again, dear.
Because without you my sky’s not blue,
And will never be unless you are near.
~Stephanie Hancock~
As ink flows onto paper
From a subservient Bic,
A word scratches itself onto paper.
Carved by memories...
Spilled from blood...
Etched in soul...
The words;
Often a double-edged sword -
Cunning and cutting to the reader.
As I bleed the poetic concoction forth,
Spattering the page with crimson honesty,
Spitting the black teeth of cruel truth,
Spewing the bile laden guilt.
It is I
Who write these words,
Pontificating on life and love.
Guilt. Pride. Honor. Trust.
Words, rather feelings...reflections and descriptions of myself.
Take hold the reins!
Gallop into your own romantic sunset!
It is a dream,
One to which I do not subscribe.
Brutality is the honest truth
And in my dream
The sunset is stained crimson with death,
Congealing blood is unromantic.
My own demise
Rests on the sword with which I write.
by Stephanie Hancock