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Tempest For A Teacup
And the dreams came:
spinning their seductive tale,
cloaking me in their smoky frangrance
until even I cannot chance the difference.
I become puppet to their design...
and still...the memory clings.
A young girl,
smile playing a quick tune upon lips
which seek to hide nothing,
arms open to the heavens,
striving to capture the rain,
ignorant to the cost of the coming storm.
Again, the dreams.
Reality blends with not,
images accelerate into
a monochrome amalgamation of make-believe,
concealing truths but somehow revealing more.
The storm, it passes.
Wearily, she casts about her
at a world just winding down
and is amazed by her continued existence,
hair clinging to damp cheeks
flushed with the heat of life
yet numb from the lashings of the wind.
The dreams...
I believe I am almost there,
my heart pounds in anticipation.
I give myself over once again
despite the frantic appeals
of my carefully placed fears.
As her cobalt eyes capture mine,
instantly becoming Lord over my attentions,
I read the question contained
and wonder, could the answer be found
within these matching orbs I keep,
so similar yet so changed.
With a pull I cannot deny,
such dreams entice me ever deeper
into my secret core,
and as time loses its meaning,
I catch glimpses of the promised reward:
Knowledge impossible to discredit.
She draws me close with our eyes,
sweet lips forming silent words
I seek to interpret.
A salty drop escapes her pleading blues
And I manage to tear myself away,
Unable to investigate the aftermath within.
With that, the dreams finally begin to subside,
losing substance as I gain consiousness,
color bleeding into my vision.
Yet that haunting essence still lingers upon my skin,
And I am certain to return in time,
For the girl waits behind my twinned eyes.
