Out of the Fold

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Shed the Light

©Stacie Sandall

Unleashed memories

blacken moving sky.

Ash lay crisp

against the moon.

Remaining light

melting time,

shedding light,

sloughing skywards.

Eminent

©Stacie Sandall

I walk in the wind; there is no air.

I feel their presence; there is no one there.

I do what they tell me; no sound to be heard.

Body so young, mind yet matured.

I speak my peace; I make no sound.

I cannot be lost; I cannot be found.

They take me on journeys; I stay on one land.

I write these words; they control my hand.

Undiscovered

©Stacie Sandall

near the ice-bundled river

where my lifeless body lays

I am forgotten

skin hardened

lips fractured

trees crack under weighty snow

foraging fauna wander aimlessly

unaware of my empty eyes

gazing awkwardly into the colorless sky

the dogs have come and gone

the sun has risen and set uncounted times

skin slips soft

trees crack with spring thaw

near the rushing river

where my lifeless body lays

I am forgotten

Run, Little One

©Stacie Sandall

Run, little one, to find your place

before the wrath of time can scar your face.

Run, little one. The light is gone.

Too late to repent, the line is drawn.

Run, little one. Run for the rain.

Run to your god who erases the stain.

Run, little one. The time is near

to praise your god, for he is here.

Speak confections with a mouth full of dirt.

It will crumble beneath you and devour the hurt.

Run, little one. Run and scream.

You'll wish it was only just a dream.

Run, little one. Kick and claw.

Feel me tear. Feel me gnaw.

Madness comes and madness goes.

When it stops, no one knows.

Your only safety is six underground.

Ashes, ashes -- you will fall down.

Barren Hell

©Stacie Sandall

Frozen stiff,

except for our eyes,

we peer from our hoods

like owls in the night.

As our mittens stiffen,

mouths frozen shut,

snow falls to cover our feet,

too heavy to move.

We stand like statues of cold stone.

Snow-covered branches fall to the earth.

Our fingers turn blue

as we try to clutch anything.

We open our eyes, now dry.

Hoping for summer,

our hair turns brittle.

The whipping wind beats our cheeks

like branches of icy steel.

Our teeth bear this wasteland,

this colorless, barren hell.

Feeling the pain,

our toenails crack beneath rubber boots.

We try to speak with ice forming on our tongues,

tissue on our lips tearing as we try.

The stinging of our flesh rises from our toes.

Trembling sounds of winter

and the sounds of our own breath,

snapping in mid-exhale,

screeching in our minds.

We sleep often -- it passes time.

We stand still, brooding in the pain,

in our own waste frozen to our clothes.

Our eyelashes fall to the white powder.

Our heads slightly bowed, we try to look up.

Our covered necks stiff despite our efforts,

weighted down by a blanket of death.

We still wait for salvation.

With no shelter, we wait.

Grow, My Children

©Stacie Sandall

I have spent pages trying to free them

so they could survive without me.

I have sent them soaring from my heart like paper gulls.

These words bluntly retreat and cling to the pages.

Dependent on my every tormenting thought,

they need me as I once needed them.

They are my children, my teachers.

I try hard to forget why I started,

but I will always remember why I ended.

One Perfect Day

©Stacie Sandall

All I need is just one perfect day.

One day to live for myself,

not how others want me to live.

I want to smash the barrier of time,

shelter the fleeing moment,

seize the child in the one who cries

and find the weakness in hate.

All I need is just one perfect day.

One day to do what I want to do,

not what others think I should do.

I want to touch the highest mountain,

dig the darkest hole,

find the hidden valley

and swim in the lurking fathoms.

All I need is one perfect day.

One day to be what I want to be,

not what others expect me to be.

I need to glide above the sun,

float among the tides

and wail among the beasts.

All I need is just one perfect day.

One day to be loved.

One day to be free.

Laughing Boughs

©Stacie Sandall

Swaying branches in the wind,

lower your boughs and let me in.

Oh, lovely limbs, whisper softly to me.

Laugh in my wake and sing in my sleep.

Laughing boughs, share my pain.

Shelter me close from the rain.

Weep with me in times of woe,

and within my tears you, too, shall grow.

Loving arms, embrace my breath.

Hold it tight and protect me from death.

Laughing boughs in the breeze,

taste my sorrow, oh mighty trees.

Boundaries

©Stacie Sandall

Don't reach to the edge of forever,

where their bodies throb in the darkness.

They hover above me in hot fervor,

slapping with proud tongues.

They prey on dreams and destroy the evidence.

Screaming, I clutch wet blankets.

Not even an echo bounces among the stars.

The silence jolts me from my sleep.

My sweaty brow gleams and the shadow of dreams slips away.

Taunted

©Stacie Sandall

I hear them in the dark,

their skull-piercing shriek.

Grasping in the deep,

my knees becoming weak.

The pawing hands,

the tugging fingers,

the more I fight

the more it lingers.

I feel my pale skin tearing,

sweat streaming down my back,

lashing at every wound

and rotting flesh to black.

Forehead against terra

knotted nakedness

eyes softening

knuckles broken

thighs hardening

dust

Why?

©Stacie Sandall

Why, Lord?

Why won't you kill me?

The pain I endure,

is it funny to watch?

Why, Lord?

Why do you hate?

Is loving me more than

you're willing to do?

Why, Lord?

Why do I suffer?

Why does my torment

please you so?

Why, Lord?

Why must I stay?

I've offered life more

than I'm willing to give.

Why, Lord?

Why must I live?

Why would you want

me to suffer this way?

Enough is enough.

The pain will not stop.

I want nothing to do

with this life anymore.

I want no more sorrow.

I want no more sting.

Remove me from this dust,

or steady my eager hand.

Letting Go

©Stacie Sandall

Holding on to what I need the most,

carrying the love you once deprived me

and kept me hollow.

Holding on,

sucking on your sympathy,

choking on your apathy

I was forced to swallow.

Treading away,

falling away,

letting me fade,

crawling away.

Floating away,

falling from grace,

letting me fall,

fading away.

Letting go of things that I fear the most,

carrying the stones that once pinned me

without resistance.

Letting go,

feeling me pull away,

watching me fade away

into the distance.

Find Me

©Stacie Sandall

Find me

lost inside myself,

lost inside a world that doesn't believe I exist.

I stand before you

cloaked by what you want to see,

chained by your judgment.

Find me.

Find me

in the shell of your own design,

the shell you've lost

in the chasm of your ignorance.

My screams tighten the binds

and stoke the fire beneath me.

Find me.

Find me

whipping the beast within,

groveling beneath my skin.

I crawl on skinned knees

for your forgiveness.

Save me from shame.

Find me.

Castaway

Feeling out of place,

trying to find her way,

she was better off

when she was made of clay.

Creeping like a mantis,

with nowhere else to be,

to choose between earth and air,

she chooses to be free.

One in a herd,

one in ten,

or a black sheep roaming

with its shadow again.

Back Off

To the thick mosaic of words massaging the wall,

to the film of chalk dust on the ends of my fingers,

to the insulated thoughts swirling around in my head,

to the smeared slate penetrating sweat beads on my temples,

to the questioning looks from the tight-ass in the corner...

I put my fingers to the black.

I pull down,

searing decibels,

rattling windows,

and a big "Thank you for nothing."

Glass House

seek and stone

forget your home

forget your sins

you're on your own

cast the rock

eye on the clock

toss and run

back to your flock

you're up next go-round

left to drown

when your glass house cracks

and crumbles down

Karma

It must be karma.

We ants running around

like headless chickens,

looking for the nearest buck to pass or spend,

wondering why we aren't happy.

The hoarding masses of has-beens, will-bes,

and everything in between

take more time to look at themselves in the mirror

than to consider the consequences

of a frown or a raised finger.

Forgiveness

As the orange moon peeked its round head over the horizon,

he let an angry tear roll down his leathery face.

He would never again caress her round, brown cheeks,

or dance beside her under the dawn of the 3 a.m. sky.

His heavy head swam in puddles of guilt.

The bright orange sphere reared its bulging head

to sneer in protest over the swelling horizon.

He would miss the way sunsets made him feel one with her.

As he walked down the barren path

towards the flaming yellow ball one last time,

he remembered her last words: "I forgive you."

Wooden

He sits with his head bowed.

His rough, callous hands fondle each other

while curious people pass by and stare.

The wooden, yellow park bench

dips under his weight and creaks in disagreement.

His hair flips gently in the breeze.

He lifts his sore, bleached body to its feet

and runs his skinny fingers through his greasy hair.

The wooden park bench creaks again in relief.

Waiting Asters

Her asters bloom

in the red squares of the clay earth.

She gapes at their gaunt petals,

hoping to gain sympathy

from the slightest sway in their wilting stems.

Her core's blackened surface

a fragile mask, a crusted shell.

Trees cringe with fear

and weep beneath the paling sky.

Unaware of the burning asters at her naked feet,

without a hand to yank her from this infected womb,

within these inherited boundaries,

she is forced to wait.