BREATHLESS
Candice James
Copyright 2010
Scrambled patterns
Weaving their way through the rain slicked streets
Of a dusty dream, stand at attention
In the living room of death,
Out of breath, gasping for redemption.
Destruction’s gravel strewn path
Paves the way for destiny’s sky jump.
Hooking onto a makeshift heaven
Of hellish motives and dampened dreams
Rigidly bent into horror stricken figurines.
Sometimes these figurines scream a fierce banshee wail.
Sometimes they dance.
Sometimes they sleep.
I see a sailboat on the horizon
But there is no breeze.
It remains motionless.
The figurines are sleeping,
And I,
I remain breathless.