Poetry Submission
by Chrystal Berche

Indigo

Dark
Creeping
In windows
Cerulean
Twilight hides her tears
Dripping pitter-patter
Mingling tye-dyed blood tinged swirls
On mossy wormwood covered bones
In shallow graves, shadow hidden fear
Lurks rotting, voicelessly silent protests
The tread of the living on sacred ground
Thoughtlessly disturbing ancient sleep
With melodramatic demands
That the cadaverous dance
screeching, caterwalling
Soulless parodies
Of deep-south blues
Unfit for
Mourning
dead


Lament for Morrigan

She said, “breathe” so I held on tight
calloused fingers digging into too soft flesh,
sweat soaked forehead pressed to sweet smelling shoulder
lilac and lilies calm remembered smell of smoke.
“Help me” I mutter, shivering, clinging
Scared I’ll fall and never stop falling
She holds on tighter, pets my hair
Doesn’t mind that I act like a frightened child
Nightmares sink talons in deep, rip; she’s always there
With hugs and lace and leather thread to sew up the tears

“Breathe”, she said. I screamed ‘til my lungs scorched with effort
Even as the screaming continued inside my head
In the dark corners cluttered and choked with memory
She sang “’Ol Man River” the way my mama used to
Words, a lifeline draggin’ me outta my hell.
She glows in moonlight, an angel, my angel
‘N I’d be soaked in blood without her to keep me sane
In a world of restless illusions, she is the whisper and the wind
The gossamer string holding my shattered pattern together
‘Til she cuts the cord, all my dreams melt away

I fought and she breathed for me, uneven heartbeats, erratic and scared
Melting, the edges frayed, colors swayed, the walls tumbled
House of glass and sand and cards washed into the breech
Waves crashed, and swallowed us
We danced in the sea; she led while I floundered
Cried, fell into pieces unrecognizable
The villains laughed; the Dreamweaver’s cackled
Bonedaggers pierce flesh, I wonder if it’s true
If you die in dreams are you dead for real?
Isn’t death just the next step in my evolution?
She wavers, stumbles, falters, and hits the floor
I curse the fates for taking something so precious and smashing it
look down at my hands, her blood, her too pale face
seeing what I’ve destroyed, prophesy fulfilled:
we all kill the things that love us.

Weathered and Deep

Weathered and deep are the lines in an aged face
Bright blue are the eyes that peer from a map of wrinkles
Even angels age
Raven hair turns white with the passing of time
Blond was the hue of youth, yet white it changed
Thinning, brittle before it fell
Gnarled hands could no longer hold the trumpet,
Nor could arthritic fingers play the strings
Wizened lungs gasp
Sputter on songs they sung with ease
The heart grows heavy, the tread slow
Weariness seeps into bones and pores
But the soul still sours
Ancient wings lose their shine yet retain their grace
And wisdom that can never be found in youth
World ending heartbreak to the young is but foolish folly
To those who smile fondly over past mistakes
Weep not for the old ones,
for they’ve found more than Prada and Ipods
hundred dollar hair styles and fake plastic smiles
May we be so lucky in the years to come
To embrace the beauty of a life well lived
And find contentment before we say goodbye.