Last Dream

Sleet began to fall
still mixed with rain
dark barely eased by the streetlights above.
Her threadbare coat
nearly soaked through
the chill reaching in to her bones.

The bench near the pines
out of the wind
the only shelter from the coming storm.
They sat together
husband and wife
this bench their rest for the night.

The shelters were full
the underpass
not a welcoming place for them tonight.
Their home long ago
taken for owed
taxes and sold to the highest bidder.

They sat on that bench
in those shadows
the cold and wet chilling to the bone.
He gave up his coat
to her, his love
then a tarp to keep under from the rain.

The temperature dropped
and darkness grew
she fell into a dream-full sleep.
They walked together
her hand in his
on the warm beach thirty years ago.

In each others arms
she in her peace
as he drifted into his new beginning.
Forever parted now
could she go on
as she dreams for the morning grace?

A dream that was relayed to me from My One and I must say she has some interesting ones. I diverged from my path of posting positive words in order to pass this along.

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United: Writers’ Pantry #26: “You can make anything by writing”

Between Fire and Moon

"May I weep, now?" she asked
as she stood before the fire
among the maple trees.
The pools of wetness spilled from her eyes
down her cheeks
evaporating in the night heat.

She looked at me
I wondered why she still stood there.
The shadows of forgotten dreams
lined her face.
Her eyes still young
with her stare back to the fire
the flames danced in her deep
brown reflections of her eyes.

I could not speak
my tongue silenced
it wouldn't matter anyway
her mind was made up.
No words of goodbye
as she pulled the hood over her head
reaching down for her scythe.

As she stepped toward the flame
she paused to look to her hands.
Smoke replaced her form
to drift in the breeze
and dance in the moon-glow
until a whisper flit then gone.

A dream that I need to work through. Sometimes these words arrive in the dream mists between slumber and awareness.

Addendum: The woman is not anyone I know or have known. The impression I have is there is a deep regret that I don't understand (yet).

Or... I could be all wrong.

Linked to Poets and Storytellers United: Writers' Pantry #19: Birthing Hope

Seeking Slient Grace

I stood on the bank of the river
where Tommy O'Brien had drowned.
They say he died of a stolen kiss
his love gave to the shop keeper's son.

Mathilda cried through that dark empty night
when she desired more love than she had.
Then the walls crashed down to show the pain
would the pills in her hand let it fade?

On that day the bank took back his farm
after another year of crop loss.
Sean looked to the bottle for solace
and stared down the barrel of his gun.

Would Grace had greeted to save them
or Hope given them life on that day?
If they looked out instead of within
would they be given another way?

May we find a cure for one's lost dreams
heartaches and the depths of despair.
In silence we hear those quiet pleas
to grant peace they seek for their own.

For those who are struggling - there is hope.

Linked to Poets and Storytellers United:Weekly Scribblings #9: Contagion