Letter to a Literary Muse
Your time is spent nurturing your fans, and I am preoccupied with once and future worlds. I am never in sync, but I see you in each parallel; we touch and go on our way. Constantly inconstant forces in each other’s lives.
But I, unlike you, have never been anytime; born in a thistle maze, kept captive in a briar patch, wandered worlds only in my head, where I dream dreams in Mobius strips: nightmares and fears; misplaced intentions and missed chances; a thousand thousand deaths, countless lost and founds.
This night, I dreamt in Celtic lore, both modern and past, simultaneously; my mind’s eye’s mirror reflection; dark red hair in cascades, hunter-green dress, among glass and metal and life-in-a-pod on a strange new world. There is no prickly nest to trap me; to hide me in thorny safety. I am exposed. Alone.
You. You see me. Not a mirror reflection. No haint from a past world. This is the future. Our future. You gently work a twig from my hair, and hold it for an eternity while our worlds dream themselves together.
A Lily for the Valley
Frosted guardians keep watch
yet I still feel alone
winter blue, and
I am tired of angels
angling towards me
handfuls of bait outstretched.
How do I know what’s true,
even here in the empty desert
with no hiding place for cruelty.
Trapped by four walls, I burrow down for winter,
sinking deep in the depths of my splintered-ice mind.
There, I dream of a greening world from long ago,
tangled, wild, warm,
just like you.
–Willow Croft 2019
(My inspiration came from these Canva-created posts I made and shared via Pinterest and Twitter. Feel free to use them for today’s creative inspiration, and link back if you wish. https://www.pinterest.com/pin/422986590001080493/ or https://twitter.com/WillowCroft16/status/1100425111042174983 )
It’s the end of the world
in this dream that rests in eternity.
We have lost the outside to poisons
made by our own hands.
This thought carries so much pain.
for our lost animals
but here, inside the abandoned office
next to the empty soda machine
and paper that was once trees
I find the magic you
and everything is put right
both inside and out
and the treasure box I hold
has only trinkets
but you love it anyway,
and we plant it in the last wild wood.
In the Unknown Space
In this imagined space,
you are the hardest to believe
that you aren’t real
just a ghost among all the other unknowns.
But I still meet you here, playing among
unicorns and fairies and a lost-forever
garden of childhoods never had.
And this poem fails to capture what you are.
Stilted and awkward but always hopeful
for the day I wake, and you are here,
dreaming me into something known.
In this maze of dreams,
we are both lost and found
chasing each other like ghosts
up and down corridors and
I follow lipstick’d messages
that blaze scarlet in this
Sometimes I hear you crying
in the looking-glass
I can’t leave you anything
but smeary hand prints.
Your rooms, caretaker,
are gathering more dust
with each passing year.
I want to find you,
bring you out of this madness, our ancient storm
into a world without walls and shadows
where we dance on rainbows
and fly away on butterfly wings.
Live life to the fullest
To boldly go where no housewife has gone before.
The emotions on text
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