Fly Away, Girl

Once I dreamed

the love of my youth

knelt on the porch, praying

for me

while I gave clothes and food

to those who had none.

 

But a man came

and whisked me away

without my love’s knowing,

drained my blood

through a plastic tube

 

filled himself

with my energy,

my youth

my magic

turning my veins

to stone.

 

I lay dying,

attached to him

until someone in white

turned a knob,

reversed the flow,

sent his cold blood

back into him.

He cried out,

in anger or pain,

I am unsure.

I saw him once

afterwards,

in a gray coat

on a park bench

in the rain.

 

I walked

by my love’s side

said good-bye to him,

then turned to light

and streaked,

like a trail of fairy dust,

to northern lights,

 

away from the drab man

and rainy parks

away,

to my own country.

 

* Yes, this poem was truly based on a dream.

7 thoughts on “Fly Away, Girl

  1. you, my friend must stay away from the spicy food at night.
    🙂

    –Hey, I’d love for you to write a poem on my challenge #2

    glad to see you post again
    scot

  2. Hahaha…thanks, Scot! I’ll remember that. No more spicy food when the sun goes down or maybe it should be…not so much TV. I might have seen the Matrix one too many times!

    Nochipa

  3. Hey Ozy,

    Ironically, I do remember most of my dreams, in vivid colors and details. Here’s a little bit of pyscho truth about me, when I was a child, I couldn’t tell dreams from reality. The line was very smudged until I was about nine and in the fourth grade. I do not know what happened in my brain then, but after that I no longer saw baby dragons sitting in the trees outside my windows, or dancing mice in the living room, or foxes wearing clothes during my waking hours. The zebras stopped coming in through my bedroom window at night and Santa stopped coming through the front door at Christmas. I spent all of my adolescence afraid that the creatures that only I could see as a child would come back but they never did. Even now, I sometimes do not want to look out the windows at night, because if I see them again, that will mean I’m a little off. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if the nine year old inside me is still there and if she can still see them. Maybe that is the reason for the very vivid and memorable dreams I have. I would have made a good Native Austrailian, I think.

    Hi, Doug,

    It’s so good to see you! I’m glad to be missed.

    Scot,

    Thank you for getting my book! I hope you enjoy it very much 🙂 Writing the book has made me thankful for the imagination I was born with.

    Nochipa

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s