Let me escape the dark within myself – Fiction

Pic – courtesy  Jeffrey Smith

tell me are your dreams
consumed
darkness disturbing
restless whisperings
invading your head
bellowing clouds
fighting in the storm
that will not let
you rest

do you want to scream

are you lost like ships at sea
embattled for war
against thoughts that
toss and turn
and those that tear
away at you
voices entombed like
castle walls
around
your world

can no one hear you

have you walked those steps
seeking help
but silently
retreat
believing the door will
never open
no one will ever answer
or show you the way

does no one care

do you wish for the beacon
to guide your journey back
to finding yourself
out of the dark
out of the grey
to trust
to feel
to live
to love

speak

For Contributor – http://ermiliablog.wordpress.com/category/picture-it-write/

Picture it and Write – 2nd version Blind Sight

I have taken the challenge up once more (my paragraph in Italic) after being inspired by the photo and paragraph below from

My fingertips reflect the world back to me. What I cannot see, I feel, smell, taste, and hear. I feel shadows as I reach for the sun and smell the coming weather on the wind. I’ve never felt deprived of sight even though I’m blind, but sometimes my fingers have a mind of their own. At first, I felt nothing. There would be periods of my day missing; people actually accused me of drawing. At first I didn’t believe them, now I’m awake when I draw. Despite feeling shoved to the back while something else controls my movement, there’s a wave of serenity that keeps me calm. Am I crazy, or just weak? Everyone else has their magic under control.

She allows my hands to move, gesturing languid movements across the page, as if skimming finger tips over tranquil water. My eyes are open, staring to the distance, yet darkness is all that I am able to see. I ask though what is darkness,  if I have never witnessed light? She awakens the part of me that has slept since birth, encourages me, whispers that I can. I take hold of the charcoal, I draw. Am I the only one who shares with another? Those that cannot see the one that lives within, surely in their own way are also blind. For she talks to me and I answer gathering strength and together we face the coming weather on the wind.

I have not read this story – Blind Sight this is just my take, continuing from the paragraph read.

Looking in the mirror

When I look into the mirror
who looks back at me?
character lines etched
by a chisel
eyes that no longer
have clarity

wrinkles, skin loose
thinner than it was
time marches on,  the woman
that looks back now so very
different than the girl of my
childhood, this is the grown up me

the foundations still remain
yet sometimes when I see myself
it’s hard to visualise who I once
was, the years unfailingly have
changed the image of the physical and
yet,  I’m aware changes are inevitable

am I happy to accept?
some days I do, others not
should I convince myself
to refrain from feeling as I do?
my mind remains the same regardless
the inner me not altered

this is only my outer shell
one that has accompanied my
life for 57 years, yet forgive
me my reflection, there are
moments when I gaze at you
and wish that who looked back

was that little girl once more
swirling in a pretty party dress
without a care in the world
no thought given to appearance
no worries of her future
no desire for anything to change

compliments will flatter for just
a moment but they fail to erase
completely those times when 
I look upon myself and feel this way
you may not know of what I speak
you may not have reached this stage

how my impression is of me now,  the
aspiration to feel like that little girl
once more, a non-sensical notion
to turn back the hands of time
but just for one sweet moment
one brief minute or three

I think of how nice it would
be to have that chance
to start life over,  to see the little girl
where I stand now….looking back at me

Written for  – Picture it & Write