From the Pocket of a Dream
when cold winds
knocked on my windows
carrying the grains of desert upon the wings,
when the flames of my candles
shivered in fear,
when nights, made of dark velvet
passed by touching the walls outside
making me feel empty,
making me feel a missing of someone I never had;
At those times of solitude,
I was never really alone.
I had a friend
that trembled along with my fearful soul,
assessed the moments of anxiety,
who knew when the time was right
to come and give solace
on his special feathery way.
He would move across the paper
shedding its tears of ink.
He would turn them to words
and let them out into freedom.
He was a regular visitor of my inner unrest,
the punctual helper to rely on.
He still is.
© Eclipse 2011
image by The Magic Quill