Siren Whispers

Siren Song


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Saturday storms

It’s raining, a drink of water after parched days. The ground was littered with odd drops,  scattered randomly, before the thunder came and the heavens opened.

The rain always stops me in my tracks. I wait. I watch. I wonder. And my heart aches with some unfathomable feeling that soaks me to my core with a haunting want.

He is the one I think of when the rain falls, shattering itself upon the pavement. A Saturday morning with nothing but the sound of rain, and thunder in the distance. It’s always him I think of  — sitting end to end on a couch, reading. Or, notebooks open upon laps, jotting down something that comes to us, dialogue or a poem. I think of laying in his arms, just listening to the rain, not saying a word. I think of the intimacy of the moment and how completely I want that. I think of how this will never come to pass.

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Copyright © SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken from Pinterest, original source unknown.


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Paradox of the quiet sea

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My eyes take in the quiet sea,

appreciating the color and lines,

the clear view of the horizon.

The swells will come,

(this I know)

churning beneath the waves –

unseen but expected –

as I acknowledge that everything

is unsettled

and all I can do

is ride that wave to shore.

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Copyright © SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken by SirenSong1208

 

 


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Purgatory Road

I’ve not been to Heaven or Hell,

but I’ve travelled this Purgatory Road

far too long.

No amount of prayers,

or repentance,

has eased my steps

along this blazing, dusty path.

My internal compass points a way

I no longer believe in.

The fragility of that arrow

mirroring the hope I’ve held close

for what seems the entirety of my life.

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Photograph taken from Google Images


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Writing true

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Sometimes writing is like slipping

off your clothes

in the waning light of day

effortless

exhalation on a sigh

but most often it is retching

in solitude

a heaving up of your insides

results that are never pretty

generally painful

but necessary

relief

momentary

 until all that bubbles up

furiously

is expelled

finding purchase

upon the page

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Copyright © SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken by SirenSong1208

 


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When night closes in

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I want to know

the thoughts that linger in his mind

when night closes in.

Do they render him sleepless,

his mind a hive

of activity,

plans and conjecture,

a body fitful with want;

or is he able to pull them

about him,

like a blanket,

feeling every soft pass

against his skin,

an inaudible sigh within

pleasure pulling him deep into dreams.

I want to know

the thoughts that linger in his mind

when night closes in,

I want to know

if they are of me.

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Copyright © SirenSong1208

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Photograph taken by SirenSong1208


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Bravery

Every step

is one upon a precipice

when you’ve no knowledge of the path

optimism

fueled with bravery

 footfall, a deep breath of the unknown

never knowing

where it will land

solid ground

or air

blind choice

another day to become

more

better or

swift freefall

courage comes with confidence

in myself

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Photograph taken from Recovery Resources, Australia via Google Images


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With every breath

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It starts slow —

tentative touch

blooming 

with color across your skin.

Like a meadow in summer,

thoughts that meander

gradually becoming

a steady hum

as he takes up residence.

A delicious

jolt

whenever you happen upon him

coursing through your veins,

pulsing beneath your skin.

Not simply desire

or respect

nor even tender regard,

but an

awakening

to him

and to yourself.

With every breath.

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Copyright ©SirenSong1208

All rights reserved.

Photograph taken by SirenSong1208