Posted in Poetry

Writing Me . . .

Sometimes I dream, if only on the page, of a
Prairie running as far as the eye can see and a
Stream – babbling and bouncing over rocks and roots and
A sky made just for me

Sometimes I flee a rain cloud overhead, all the while
Wishing it would softly rain on me;
That the sky would run dark if only for a moment so I could
Cry a cautioned tear

Sometimes I fly through mid-drift skies
Whirling and swirling like Dorothy finding Oz and it
Feels like just when one chapter in my life ends,
A new one bursts onto the page: mid-sentence

Sometimes my best moments begin in Medias Res and other times
I feel like I begin at the ending
Or end at the beginning
Of some half-imagined adventure or another

Sometimes I find that the joys of life come from the
Simplest of things – a newborn’s cry, a sniff of honeysuckle,
A memory, not far off…
But in all things I give praise – glorious –
To the Author who is writing me

(c) 2018 Melissa Fairchild