Sitting in Michael's Lap
I hear the whispers of many years behind me;
Eons, ages, beyond my own ...
Feeling things I never hoped to feel
Knowing - what I could not have known.
Where am I?
My mind reels with impossible images
That the mind never knew but the soul remembers.
Lost in the void, between worlds, between realities --
Here, but lingering there, afar.
My reflection in a pool of still water
But the face
Is not my own.
Who am I?
Dancing barefoot in dew-laced grass
Twirling, twirling beneath the velvet sky
Dizzy; firelight flickers on features
Of a face that is not my own.
My nostrils filled with the heady scent
Of the wood burning -- I feel the caress
Of the fire's warmth upon my skin --
Or taste the delicious chill
Of fragrant autumn air, in a place
I have never been.
Twirling, twirling, beneath the moonlit sky.
Or running, laughing,
The dappled forest a blur as it rushes past me,
Wind that blows the hair away
From the face that is not my own.
The crunch of leaves beneath unslippered feet,
The ache of laughter in my belly
And of air in my lungs.
Tumbling in the leaf-strewn carpet
Echoing as I awaken
A tear that lingers in the eye
Of this face - it is my own.
(I don't write much free verse. I would appreciate an honest evaluation of this piece. Thanks!)