Image by Pixabay.com
Red ribbons tied,
On presents bright.
Kind wishes, extra kisses,
Eager faces, family waiting.
Nearer to forty than you want to be.
Days stretch out like fallen ribbons.
Answers found to questions asked,
In a search that had you turned around,
Sad petals fall away.
Yesterday’s gone, yet we carry on…
© Anita Dawes 2021
I was meant to remember but I could not.
It felt as if a part of my mind had been cut away
Hidden from me
I search the dark space in between
Finding the thin veil that separates our world.
I see the missing part of my memory floating,
hands reaching, trying to take it for their own
I wondered if forgotten memories
lived here in this thin world
Those that live here, need us to forget
To rebuild their broken minds
From the free-floating forgetfulness of others…
© Anita Dawes 2021
( For the visually challenged reader, the image shows the sun setting over the horizon, and in the foreground, you can see rail tracks)
I sit beneath the red light of a dying day
Waiting for the next train to take me away
from the tears shed in this town
The gentle sound of water
Soothing my broken heart
He said he loved me while loving another
I cannot be an extra string to his bow
One more notch on his bed post
I need to be someone’s one and only…
© anita dawes 2021
I am eighteen and my life is broken
I need a new one. With no idea how
or where to find one. Some would say
I am too young to give up on life.
They would feel the same if they had
a hundred lifetimes stuck inside their heads
Their voices, their faces swirl around like a cyclone
All vying for attention, needing to be heard
To be remembered. There is one girl
that shows up more often than the others.
She looks like me, could almost be a twin
All but for the scar on my chin.
Riding home on my bike from college, I hit a small pothole
I flew over the handlebars and landed flat on my face.
Helped up by a passing stranger,
who gave me a hanky for the blood dripping from my chin.
Walking the rest of the way home, I realised
I could no longer hear the voices in my head
They were all gone. I was the only one left
I felt ready to begin my life again…
I found this the other day when choosing a selection of Anita’s poems for the book we want to publish, and it seems to fit with all that has been happening…
Have you ever had one of those days
when you feel as though you are made of glass?
I am having one today.
I can feel small pieces slipping away as I walk
I am broken, disappearing slowly
I can almost see the pieces glistening behind me
like a trail of breadcrumbs.
Will someone follow and put me together again?