For Claire

I had a dream,
You were standing expressionless in your field.
You hair flailing in the wind like your soul,
A ghostly figure standing behind you,
draped in long flowing garments,
indistinguishable.

The dark crow flies.
Taking a pure white hand,
the ghostly figure slowly, smoothly,
weaves its fingers through yours.
Like a mist,
seeking its way through mountain valleys.

The gray wolf howls.
You bolt into the woods.
The ghostly being follows.
It takes another misty hand
and with the same perfect, smooth movement,
caresses your cheek.
A smile flickers in the corner of your mouth.
You fill your lungs contentedly with air
and the ghostly figure glows.

You sit and rest.
Your ghost sits too.
You can't see it but you know it's there.
It always is
It always will be.
Standing, watching, holding, loving.
It sees you pain.
It dries your tears.
It holds you when you feel forlorn.
It shows you the way when you're lost in darkness.
Or at least it tries.
Don't push away your misty friend.
It only wants to feel with you.
And don't forget this being either.
One day it too may feel pain, sorrow or fear.
And need your guidance, touch and presence.
Don't forget the friendship it's shown you.
For I am your ghost.

Swings (Maplewood)

Little children, never scared,
they see the world through blinkered eyes.
As if the darkness, the hatred, the sin,
was filtered to let only happiness in.

Run little children,
play on your swings,
make the most of your happy existence.

In this life you have a choice of two paths;
keep the ignorant bliss you're used to.
Keep the ignorant bliss I wish I still had.

Or open your eyes and see the world as it is.
See that the God you've been taught to believe in doesn't exist.
See the protective shells around the people you loved.
See the people who are truly full of knowledge,
see their souls glowing black.
See the ones who know too much,
see them lying dead in their graves.
See that the more that you learn of the world,
the more that you let in through an open heart and open eyes,
the more your blood no longer belongs in your veins.
See the knife lying on a maplewood table.
See the glints of light dancing on its surface as it turns in the light.

Like little children running for the swings.

So, little children, your future looks bright.
Suffer an eternity of being denied the truth of life, of passion, of death.
Or discover this knowledge and acquaint your maplewood table
But wish you were still a little child,
life ahead of you,
unaware of the choices ahead of you,
waiting to destroy you ignorantly blissful life.

Play on your swings little children.
Play on your swings.