Indigo Moon by Deborah Borrett (romantic novels to read txt) 📕

/> And who we have become together.
I adore you,
My gentle giant.
One finger, one thumb, one arm, one leg
One nod of the head, keep moving.

Step back into motion…
Holding hands…
Let’s all be merry and bright.


Knowing Better

I should have known better than believe Love deserved me
Because through the deception of Love, Life is a lie.
Clouds of emotions roll over and confuse me,
They mar my view of reality.

I should have known better than to think I was worthy
Because inside me I feel things that are not meant to be.
Wanting and needing - two very different options
Are the paths that stretch out in front of me.

I should have known better than to acknowledge what you offered
Because it meant opening the locked door of my soul.
Trust, for me, has never before been an option -
I had never made believing Love existed my goal.

I should have known better than to take what was given,
Placed open before me to entice me alone.
I should have kept the love deep in my heart hidden
Knowing better than to demonstrate what we couldn’t possibly hone.

I should have known better than to grow into a woman
When inside me I cling onto being a child;
Loving, living, giving the best I can tender
When all I remember is betray and being defiled.

I should, in my future, know better than to proffer
My Being to someone who is worlds apart
But rather continue living a safer existence
Where I alone am in control of my heart.


Leaves on the Tree.

If I wanted you to, you would liken me to a tree
With a gnarled body
Pitted and knotted by situation.
My skin has weathered circumstance;
Darkened with wisdom, not age,
Chiselled, patterned, texture and dimpled to touch.
Beneath my bark run entwined veins,
Vessels to transport consequence between head and heart
Sap to give energy, sap to be drained.
My roots spread far beneath my appearance,
Some settled deep beneath bedrock
Others fine and fragile
Laying lightly covered by soil
You could easily disturb through action or syllable.
In my winter my branches are exposed,
Nape revealed, twisted, folded
My core seeking respite within secret hidden depths.
In my springtime
Blossom giggles across my limbs
Which, in the breeze, gently smiles at your upturned face
To reveal my heart
Shaped like a dragonfly.


Lost for Words.


Eyes clenched shut
As though mind locked in secret;
Sanity and thought sealed securely.

Hands fisted,
Emotions bolted behind a shuttered mirror;
Quavering image in mocking reflection.

I am lost for words.

Not merely lost
But bereaved… deprived of sound,
Sense misplaced by desire of soul,
Utterance impaired by imagination
That cannot communicate its tangled images,
Stifled in heart by unperfected impression
Of future, aspirations and dreams.

I remain, lost for words.
Speechlessness overpowering,
Dumb restlessness in noiseless atmosphere,
Thoughts not subdued nor suppressed
But, rather,
Incommunicable by word alone,
Taciturn in an enfolding hand,
Entwined fingers,
Arms encircled in embrace.

Completed in the hush and stillness
Quiet undefeated
Not by lips fastened shut
Nor by enclosed perception,
But by heart and mind united
In an immutable silence.


Masks.

If my face could portray the mirror
Of what other faces wanted to see
I could play for the world a million parts
Each one truth endangering
By Act - convincing and conniving -
To present the person who wishes to be found.

I would wear the mask of motherhood
Eyes rapt upon my child
Watching every step of daring
With heart in mouth
Wishing fulfilment of dreams,
Idolising,
Stepping forward with sweep of arm
To admonish and protect.
My mask would crack with tears of joy
And pain
To be sewn back together
Patched and cotton strewn
By a worked hand and a steadfast will.

The mask of a daughter
Is a part easily played -
Curved and newly formed
Physical, emotional and spiritual needs foremost
Altering slowly as independence gained
Causes tantrums, stubbornness and wilful late nights;
Older still
Tears and frustrations shared over coffee and by phone
As a new daughter is born
In spirit and by age;
Mother relied on differently
As grandparent and as friend.


I could don the mask of a sister
Hear secrets whispered within bedroom walls
Chuckles resonating
Boys - repelled and admired -
Discussed by stained lip and blushed cheek
Clothing pooled
Arguments swift and subtle cast asunder
By female bond beyond play.

For some the mask of lover could be required
Eyes shining brightly through
Body pushed and pulled into clothing
Seductive and new
Garments pushed aside for teasing and pleasing
Lips for kissing
Heart for breaking
Every muscle and sinew filled with longing
Soul tormented by lust
Or love.

The mask of friendship
Would create an actor of sophistication
For many faucets of part would be required:
Dinners, restaurants, wine
Take-away and films
Afternoon walks, boxes carried, gardens mowed,
Tear-filled vases arranged with flowers
Children cradled
Football kicked
Phonecalls made and parties planned;
Time filled by needs not immediate to self
Willingly and unwillingly given.

I would at some stage take onto me
The mask of mentor, advisor
With wrinkled skin giving glory to age
Eyes wise beyond their learning
Accounts of life passed slowly given
Tales of misdemeanour recounted
Alongside self rebuke and warning
Against similar error repeated.
I would yearn for companionship
Yet shake away intimacy
For guidance must be impartial
Unmerited by propaganda or bribery
Given freely to hearing ear
And listening mind.

The mask of musician, artist, poet
Is freely and willingly worn
Fingers ink smudged
Face daubed and smeared with paint
Heart filled by longing
To communicate through all senses
Curriculum and drudgery enlivened and enlightened
Muse running loose inside mind and intellect
Creating thought and thinking, advances, ideas
Waiting to be trapped, tapped into and harnessed
By Creativity itself.

A harlequins face is provided next
Patterned uniform pulled on to complete the part
Jesters stance of mockery fully used
To relect
Gesture of action, mind and face.
Ah yes, face and gesture
Kept hidden by mask.

So today I wear a mask of solitude
A blank canvas
Waiting for whoever walks by
To choose who and what I should be today.
They may paint on my features
And characteristics thus given
Create illusion of body complete with soul.
I will be who I need to be today
World demanding,
Therefore presented with an image,
A mirrored face of itself
While inside myself and with you alone
The mask is pushed aside.


Morning

The alarm clock chirrup’d
Her arm flung out sideward
Instinctively fumbling.
She lay back,
Head sinking into warm slumbered pillow
Gaze drifted ceiling-ward
As brain recognized, slowly,
That morning had arrived.
And then
Amidst curtain clad sunrise
She began to lazily smile
Then glow
Her eyes glimmered
With the remembrance of thoughts
Curved
Newly formed
Etched into fresh memory.
With secret smile
She rolled over
Stretched out her arms
And buried her face
Into sleep fragranced cushion
Before arising
Drawing the curtains
And allowed sunlight to pierce her view
Then turned
To start the day
Blessed.


Morning Dance

A dance in the morning,
Bare feet moistened with dew;
Rainbow crystals
Reflecting from droplets of water
Perfectly captivated by the dawn air.
Petals opening -
A perfect fragrance to capture my soul,
An aroma to fill my heart with you.
Sunlight peeping through
Delicate green shoots freckled with buds,
Dappled shadows on the grass.
Exact stillness of the glittered midnight sky
Reflected in my memory
Of the nights we spent apart;
When daybreak happiness
Became a shared dream of perfection;
A haze of embroidered life
Entwining us together through honesty.

You are more beautiful than everything
And the world reminds me of you.


My Own Mind

Today I am perturbed
Unsettled
My mind dances
Flits from idea to idea
Like a moth
Caught
Nearside to a naked flame
Swooping towards its desire
Touching what it wants
Needs
Then darts away through fear
Through pain.
I see what I should want.
There is a clear path ahead of me
I could stride down it
Or linger here.
At the end of the pathway
Is a gift.
Someone stands waiting
Beckoning
Wanting me.
I could dance like a butterfly,
Sway and curve myself in
Appropriate direction;
Take those faltering steps.
I could pound down the gravel
Travel as quickly as I can
Run headlong and head first
Towards the thing I am not certain I want.
I want to be able to take those steps
Want to be able
To grasp who I might become
If you allow me to be with you.
My heart and mind are mismatched.
I don’t think
I have anything special to give.
I shut myself away…
Hide who I am
In flight
In fugue from mind,
Fugue from emotions
Fugue from identity.
I run away from who I am
Yet I want to give who I am.
It’s a delicious, terrible dance
Dipping towards
Dipping away from the flame.
I’m scared
Afraid the flame will gutter and ember
And I would never have allowed myself
To have walked the pathway
I am too afraid to step on.


My Valentine

My Valentine?


Today I am inexplicably sad.

The world revolves around me,
Rotating slowly on its axis
Whilst about me people tumble
Through their solid lives,
Lives that contain a myriad of expressions.
I love to watch their freedom…
I grace them with a wry smile
And wonder how they can walk and talk,
Carry on regardless with their meaningless chatter
When my world has been stifled.

You see - I have learned.
Love is not something that frees you
Or allows your spirit to soar, as the song promises.
Love is a shackle.
It binds you forcibly to it
Without due consideration to who you are
Or where you are in your life.
It sweeps you to places beyond your own choice and reason
And leaves you gasping for air
As you try to understand to where it has transported you.
It robs your senses blind.
And then it dumps you
Leaving you breathless and bonded,
Unable to escape its clutches
Despite its own desertion of you.
Love constricts.
It disables your rationality;
Prevents movement in you higher order of thinking;
It suppresses and trembles and owns you.
Fully.
There is no escape.
Love swallows you whole and without scrutiny.
It simply possesses you
Leaving you tormented by either passion or grief.

Love…
It is a revolving cycle of incompletion;
Its erratic cycles make you swagger, then wilt,
Gleeful then appalled,
Wasted, then abundant.

You see.
Today I am inexplicably sad.
Love has caught hold of me in its clutches.
But I have no inspiration, no suitor,
No-one to claim as my own.
Therefore I whisper to ‘Where are you, my Valentine?’
As the day draws inwards
And my heart, full of love with no outpouring,
Full of not-love with contained expression
Prepares to face another day


Nightfall

Nightfall.

Dusk approaches amidst chattering birdsong
While evening beseeches twilight to allow its apprehensive entry.
And then, for a moment, the world sinks into soundlessness.

Darkness shrouds the hushed earth as
The World becomes entombed in inaudible surrender;
Speckles of dust held encapsulated in grey abandon
Before they are ensnared and buried in the violet curtain
Which wraps the daylight in its cumbersome confinement.
Gloaming pays homage to Night,
Enslaved, caught in its thralldom
As slowly its claustrophobic shadow
Parts to reveal a broken neckline of stars,
Divulged to