I’ve called on others to analyze me
To evaluate and judge me
To name me as they see fit
Hoping to understand
What they understand
The author and site owner can be reached at leeundercedartrees@gmail.com.
I’ve called on others to analyze me
To evaluate and judge me
To name me as they see fit
Hoping to understand
What they understand
Call out my name
Shout it across the house to summon me
To the kitchen to cut vegetables with you
Sing it to me at sundown for soothing comfort
As if I myself am the sweet lullaby
…
Emboldened by past success,
I stand firm but unfrozen when I see it.
If it wakes, will it give chase?
Will it toy with me, or pursue to kill?
The quiet peace brings forth
The familiar forest sounds that soothe:
The wind that makes it to the branches,
The birds chirping for each other,
The rustling of hungry deer in the brush.
…
Some nights after twilight settles
Evening fears creep into view
Rolling into the night under that cold moon
Usually to fade with the sunrise
But only after they haunt
…
She’s dizzy, weak
She’s heavily wounded
Yet miraculously she stands
On shaking legs
Spitting bitter iron
Coughing, dazed, stumbling
With broken bones
Into arms of those who came
To her when she needed them most
The wet sand that cushioned her
When she fell so far
The sun that hid from her
In the cobblestone square
The moon that couldn’t find her
Sitting at her warm table
The snow that didn’t touch her
But saw her through that window
And the friend who could read her
Who could hear and see right through her
May be the only ones who really
Know her stories
Maybe that’s enough
After all, as this new day ends
She’s still standing
December 5, 2024
12:15 a.m.
A Daydream Aggressive
A Daydream Decisive
A Daydream Gently Ending
She sits at a huge dining table
That was crafted amateurly
But with great care, in rich mahogany
Low warm lighting surrounds her
Stars twinkle through the windows
Her arms across her chest, she holds herself
Staring at an item on the table
Pondering
She remembers that she hates the smell of metal…
In the centre of some distant stone village
She sits cross-legged in the cobblestone square…
Stormy skies pound down onto dark shorelines
Anger whips branches and brambles to and fro
Thunder and lighting tear the sky into pieces
Echoing a desperate rage
Found in any lifetime of faulty connections
Dark clouds oppressive with no end in sight
Mix with a melancholy
Only the perpetually lonely can understand…
Will I be tempered in the crucible
Of this cutting new awareness,
Maybe even sharpened to a razor’s edge?
Is this really grief for the fantasy now dead,
Or is it regret for seven years tainted
With a lie I told myself?