Reflections for a Kaleidoscopic World, Carrie Marie Bennett [books to read for 13 year olds TXT] 📗

Afternoon solace

The willful season sighs solace,
as the old who are young raise gnarled hands to the sky.
The last leaf whispers to the land of the dead,
“I failed like no one has before.”

It raises one willing eye up to the sky,
and thinks 'if only I could be one with the white perfection.
The world holds it breath and exhales quickly,
As the last leaf makes its bed in the apocalyptic quiet.

Its last words are
“Meaning is found in the season of dieing”
Life is restored to its natural order.
The sun soon peaks from behind the clouds.

“I've been away from home for an awfully long while.”
She says to the world waiting below.
The snow melts cleansing the world,
and life takes its first awkward stumbling steps.

Its heartbeat thuds a kaleidoscopic tune.
and the leaf opens its eyes as if woken from a nap.
He takes joy in the afternoon solace.
He laughs at the thinkers below,

He mutters "I remember that face it was ashen."
"So overcome was it by winters cold."
He realizes he is proud to call this world his own,
and reflects on the way time ticks by.


Time's Mirage

Half empty preludes reveal the cynicism of dreams.
Standing on murky foundations,

the quality of purpose remains to be seen.
Just an etch on the mirage of time gone dry;

waiting for the foreshadowing of the end.
Children reach out with hour glass hands,

looking towards limitless horizons.
Yearning for the tangle of balance in heated discussion.

They come to a realization.
The realization that intensity in truth is often overlooked.


Corrosive Metaphorical Sea

I can still feel the presence of your corrosive afterthoughts,
Though the longing' I feel is nonexistent' now,
as I stand in the doorway of our memories.
I realize all we shared was withered silence.

Silence among ruined ashtrays and peeling walls.
'It was all wasted,' I think to myself,
when I remember the longing we shared for summer days.
I knew even then that our souls belonged in the autumn home,

looking over the acrid metaphorical sea.
I knew that the strained look in your eyes
was the foreshadowing' of the end.
Though I held your hand as if trying to hide.

Hide from the numb churning of the waves coming in.
It was there you stole the last emblem of my youth.
I remember you spoke in a voice filled with ash,
and said “This is where we bury our love”

You looked at me with broken passion and muttered
“Now you must treat it as if it were dead.”
I laughed, and looked towards our grave
“I think I all ready did”


Lie of the Hourglass Hand

Ah, full of meaning is this truth that becomes a lie.
The hourglass hand reaches,
Reaches through the mirror into the chaos of midnight,
and reflects the wordless messages on every concrete wall.

“Seek the place where smoke rings becoming nothing”
  It pulls through to the lonely plain of intellectual suffering,
and on the plain a demon sits sipping sunshine through a straw.
It is completely unaffected.

Unaffected by the ruin caused by a land that lost its light.
It cares for nothing obsessed with the symmetry of black rain, 
and the Cheshire cat winks
trying to see through stained glass,

and lets the current of time,
  take him to the place where prophets lost their minds.
He smirks and thinks 'Well grin me sad this world has gone dry.'
On the bank he finds the birds of meaning he just cant catch.

Eventually the world fades into a kaleidoscope dream.
Quiet and sad, but flowing with color.
The other side of the mirror grows dark.
Fading, gone, trying to write messages in ash.


Lies From the Brick City

The world isn't so bad
in the place where hollow minds dare not go.
In that place  the innocents sleep in cages,
and watch  with curious eyes.

Nightmares and dreams collide,
in a train wreck of meaningless ponderings.
She can see them there.
holding out their hands to grasp the change.

Reaching out their hands to the lover with the dead pan eyes.
He smiles thoughtfully,
but it never touches his self made frost.
They collectively weep knowing he became the lie.

They can sense the storm brewing in the city.
The cage swings open tantalizingly,
teasing winters children out of hiding.
They know its all a lie,

but they smile knowing truth has no meaning,
especially in the brick city.
They gaze into panes of existential fear, wondering if life or death is safe
Everything freezes over in a sudden irrational way,
and they realize that truth becomes the lie.


Kaleidoscopic Fairy Tale

I look up at the vermilion sky;
imaging all the ways we were doomed to die.
The eyes of innocence told me I couldn't leave,
but I turned my back and walked towards the November cold.

You stood arms outstretched embracing the sky,
and I said cruelly “But it's falling chicken little.”
I turned back briefly “And the king is nowhere”
The brief thought entered my mind 'who will save you now.'

Though honestly I didn't care.
I betrayed my love to you,
and let you have my soul.
It wasn't enough to keep fairy tale land alive though.

I decided I can keep my self alive.
I walk into cold reality.
Leaving chicken little with his pieces.
The prince with his unattainable sleeping beauty.

Snow white and her dwarfs are waiting it out below ground.
I reach the border of the enchanted forest,
and see a smiling face.
The Cheshire cat speaks riddles into the afternoon rain.
“You know the things we lose we can't regain.”

“Fairy tales are objective in the passage of time.”
Despite myself I listen taken in by instability.
He takes me into the kaleidoscope.
I absorb all the colors of the world.

I see the old who are young sleeping on stone.
I cry for  the god like brilliance of it all.
When I awake I am reborn and it is spring.
I walk back through the enchanted forest.


Hypocrisy of the sun

Standing up we watch the hypocrisy of the sun,
and chase the empty plain.
We are strays wondering to the world of thorn,
and howling calls to a dead moon.

The meadow of ash stands before us,
where all the dead things grew out of greed.
Sometimes we wonder when the world stole our sorrow.
We fought against the tide,

and we travel on broken feet.
We are haunted by the discontent of the soul,
and we sleep with sea shell eyes,
as we  ponder the lies of thieves.


Contemplation of the moon

She listened in quiet reverence;
waiting for horizons of  contemplation,
wondering which way was home.
And as she stared out in wonder,

She thought to herself
'How absurd this conquered land.'
The sun played across the field of arrogance;
leaving her to gaze longingly at fields of majestic pride.

She remembered the strength of the world's tilt,
and the way that love made the flowers grow,
and thought as the world faded behind the sun.
'When was the last time I slept in the glow of the moon'


Impatient Season

Soft, sighing,
the leaves kick back their feet like impatient children.
They are waiting to take a trip into the sun.
I watched as they put on that innocent red dress,
and smiled for the misplaced season.

Their hearts fluttered like birds taking flight.
They squirmed at the enigma of the audience watching them,
and closed the shutters on their emptiness.
I sheathed my sword, and whispered.
“I have finally found home.”


Delusional Floaters

White shapeless beacons settle over perfection,
breeding discontent with the azure sky,
and they are scurrying down there;
In the place where prophets lost their minds.

The unseen god watches them;
Watches them shed the skins of their inner animal,
and he tries to scream through the electric hum and moving cells,
but he goes unheard except in the inner mind.

The inner mind of the delusional floaters in the river of time.
They reach out;these lost ones.
but  they can not grasp the meaning.
The meaning that once existed in profound beauty,

but they can still taste the purification,
and lose control to the wandering eye.
They breathe in the silence,
and remember the days when no one spoke.


Internalized Sea of Bitterness

She stares out at the ocean of apathy;
Watching the numb churning of the waves rolling in,
and reflects upon the monster feeding on her anti-emotions.
Feeding on whats left of the husk of her lost potential.

“I'm powerless!” She yells to the internalized animal.
'When did this truth become the lie?'
She asks the divide within herself.
It screams in resistance....
Resistance of the current washing away her sense of reality;

She lets go of all control.
As the rain cries its bitterness,
she takes the last chunk of flesh off of her empty shell.
and the monster evaporates with the smell of low tide,
and Saturday morning bitterness. 

Publication Date: 01-25-2010

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