Dance the Light

 

It’s been a long time since I’ve walked

along the road where happiness lives...

the path is filled with weeds, and grass so high

it’s gone to seed.  If I look real close

can still see the stones that line it.

There used to be a clear line to the door–

funny how I can't see it anymore

The wooden gate hangs by one hinge, and

everything’s in disrepair. It’s not that I no longer

care,  just perhaps not as much as I once did

The house is filled with creaks and moans

and echoes of  the joys it held.

The single hatchling’s up and flown;

and so I find I’m on my own, just

watching dust motes dance the light

and trusting all will be alright

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Be the Fire

 

When your gleam has lost its shine

as you wander through the dark

and you cannot seem to find

a bit of kindling for your spark,

I’ll meet you in your twilight space

I’ll join you in that darkened realm

and find the embers that you hide

not gone, but just obscured inside

and stir the light that brings you home.

 

And when you find that I’m burnt out

can’t see the sunlight for the rain

stumbling through a cloud of doubt

where all my efforts are in vain,

you drive away the seeds of fear

remind me that I’m not alone

and in the dankness of such days

you are the match that sets the blaze

to light my way on paths unknown.

 

Each of us has gotten lost

inside the vacuum of our souls

where everything exacts a cost

and leaves us aimless in our roles.

No matter what this life ingrains

nothing ever stays the same,

we're at the mercy of the tender

who searches ash for dying ember

to rouse the cinders that remain

so once more we can be the flame.

 

© Ginny Brannan 2023

Anatomy of a Dream

I dreamed that we met, not 

by chance but with intent.

We shared the instant familiarity

of two old friends with common threads,

and an incredible sense of intimacy

for we have already bared ourselves 

through our words: I know your sadness, 

and you have seen me naked in my grief.

So we met, not as some pimply-faced teens, 

giddy with the prospect of holding hands

or “will he or won’t he kiss me?”

but as two adults, self-aware, who’ve lived 

their share of heartache and pain.

It's not our first dance, but perhaps another

chance to hear the music once again.

 

It’s funny how our dreams are formed:

some we remember and some we don’t

some dream in color, and some say they

never dream at all; perhaps they just don’t recall.

They say dreams reveal our unspoken wishes

no filters imposed by the cognizant mind

our synapses fire at incredible rates, and

we cannot control what visions they’ll rend.

In dreams we can find our heart’s one desire,

or trip crossing lines that we do not intend;

as we search for a meaning that isn't forthcoming

before resolution, the dream always ends.

© Ginny Brannan 2023