Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Window Sill

She sits on my window sill,
looking pretty and pristine,
her face is covered by her hair,
and though she sighs, she's still.
A breeze catches her red hair
and she smiles as if it told her truth,
she's taken by the beauty in the moment
though the load she carries is hard to bear.
I'm taken by her silence and wander if she'll speak
it's odd that words she's not found,
and as if my thoughts have penetrated her,
she turns and slowly leaks.
Out come words spinning into gold,
about her years of service for the king
her life she has lived,
and the secrets she has never told.
The battles that have waged,
the people she has met
come alive before my eyes.
With her beauty and her stories, they all become uncaged.
Too long the Warriors and Princesses have sat
in this dingy afterthought,
and as she forgets I'm there I see her reunite,
and her world now is round instead of feeling flat.
She is apart from their world and somehow lost in mine,
she thought she could escape.
One to many lies and settling for this,
reality came and set the hands of time.
Too long she's sat on my window sill,
pretending she is nothing,
but the battle scars and loving eyes,
give her true idenity away until
Her story is never finished but now she at me looks,
aware that i, sitting on the floor, have been
most attentively her ear
and wishing I had written down her stories in the books.
Audience of one, I'm glad to get my fill,
but if you asked, I could not explain.
All I know is that she loves,
to look out from my window sill.


Jerry said...

wow, i had to say something after reading this. this is soo good.

Kelli B said...

echo! echo! i echo that sentence. LOVE this poem...wnat to know more!