PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She fell backwards into the night, but when she came up, she had many stories to tell... the story of two cats, the story of two ducks that swam side by side; the story of a memory long forgotten and recently remembered, about working too much and not enough, and things said in the dark.



Sometimes the stories turn into songs, when no one is watching (but only when no one is watching, for stories are shy), and sometimes songs want to be sung, and sometimes they want to sing of themselves, and the world is lost in music and in a group of Lost Boys and in the words of a girl who fell from the sky.



And sometimes, in the dark, when people are floating and they don't know, the world spins, and memories of times spent with other floaters return, and someone sings a song, and everything is ok because of the blue pen lying on the table.



And then sometimes... sometimes she comes out of the night, backwards still, and finds the songs and cats and pieces of stars and anything else that's floating around like lost boys and a pen and a shy story hiding underneath a box, and she weaves them together into a quilt, one that keeps the winter nights warm for when visitors are away, or near, and speaks to the moon of a lost girl and a found girl, and of voices and dreams and truth.



And after she is done speaking to the moon and herself and whoever cared to listen in, she feels the need again to cry, maybe, or to laugh and be happy, or to find the inside where it's warm, or to find the outside where it can be warm as well, and to make the world happy again, or maybe just one person, or maybe herself, or maybe them all together, and



to dance with the snowflakes and listen to their song

to speak to the ground and have it speak back

to speak to the world and have it understand

to speak to a single person, just because, just for

something, somewhere, somewhen

and they don't all exist, they are, they are not, they ARE



and then she falls back down from the moon and says to those who listen,

would you

like…

to…



to... fall into the snow with me

(but warm snow my dears)

and listen to it sing

and maybe sit and talk

or not talk

and just be quiet, while spirits talk instead

and find the path to the rainbow

~          ~          ~

and I say now, here, and now - this is ME.

(softer, quieter) and I say here, now - this is me.