Slipping Away

There is a vanishing face

Staring back in the mirror

I see her everyday

I used to know her well

 

Time has made her hard to recognize

She’s no longer the girl I knew

Her features are blurred

Disfigured as the dreams she holds

 

Her life has changed

Seems so very surreal

She is vanishing before my eyes

As if it is playing out in film

 

Growing so old

Eyes tired and sad

Shrinking amongst the shadows

Vanishing upon the mist

 

Not the girl that is within

A soul dying to get out

Dancing and singing

Smiling with hope

 

The girl within

Still has dreams

A timeless spirit

Invincible in every sense

 

She walks on the edge

Fearless and strong

No one can beat her down

She knows where she belongs

 

Not the girl in the mirror

A restless soul

Constantly searching

Looking for a place to run

 

Defeat has become her name

Struggling to face each dawn

Despair her only love

Darkness her only home

 

 She tries to speak

Her words are muffled

Her voice has disappeared

Wasted on unanswered tears

 

Before me she is vanishing

The light is fading slow

Upon bended knees I still pray

Hoping to stop the slipping away

 

 

~SMH~

Copyright 2013

Imprisoned

Being imprisoned

Held captive

Looking around

Is it just a dream?

 

Though carpeted

Floors seem so cold

Hard like concrete

Painful against my feet

Floors of a cell

 

Walls so white

Harsh to look at

Three walls

A tiny window

Big enough to see

 

Then there are the bars

Everywhere I go

Silver and fierce

Hard steel

So unbendable

 

I see the way out

Things I want to touch

Places I want to go

Still I am trapped

Those bars do not move

 

A guard walks the hall

Laughing at my despair

Dangling the keys

Rubbing it in

My freedom is in their hands

 

I pace constantly

Feeling as if I’m going no where

A long black chain

Cuffed to my leg followed by a ball

Dragging me down

 

Further and further I go

Blisters upon my feet

Sinking into the abyss

Locked away in this prison

Hoping for a light of hope

 

I have that moment of clarity

Looking into the mirror

Clearly not asleep

Clearly not a dream

Still blocked by bars

 

Trapped in a cell

I’m looking out

The guard locks eyes

It is me staring back

Realizing my only fate

 

The face that holds me

The one in the mirror

One always staring back at me

It is her that holds the secret key

The one that can set me free

 

~SMH~

Copyright 2013

Suffocating

 I feel like I’m suffocating

Gasping for air

Drowning in my own despair

Stuck in the thick of dryness

 

The face in the mirror

Turning bluer and bluer

Feeling like time is running out

The walls are closing in around me

 

One hand on my throat

One hand outstretched

Calling for help

Hope that never comes

 

I feel myself slipping

Further into a dark abyss

Fading from this time

Struggling to stay put

 

Scratching at my throat

Hoping to clear my airway

To no avail

My eyes are growing heavy

 

Feel my spirit slipping away

Darkness is upon me

The light is growing dimmer

It seems like a dream

 

Thickness too surreal

Still all I know

I feel like I’m suffocating

Grasping for the air of life

 

~SMH~

Unscripted Love

carrie_engagement

Carrie McGavock (credit: Carnton Historic Plantation, Franklin, TN)

 

I had a dream once.  That is kind of funny to phrase it like that. I dream a lot, but I had this particular dream only once and it stands out a bit more than others.  It resonated with me, I guess you could say.  Now with that said, I had a dream.

Let me start by saying, I’m kind of into the Civil War.  If I had to have an “era” that would be it. Don’t know why, but there it is.   Now whether I’m into the Civil War because of this dream or this dream was a result of my Civil War fetish-type feelings, I do not have the answer, but there it is to set the scene.

In this dream, I was first crawling through this wooden pathway.  I felt like I was sneaking around, but when I came upon this door I could hear music, laughter, and talking.  I don’t recall pushing the door open, but this man in Confederate grey took my hand. I thought that I was in trouble, but I was not.  We walked to the middle of the floor and everyone in the room stopped and stared at me in awe.  I felt like a princess.

He guided me to this other man named Ulysses.  All the men were in suits or Confederate grey. I remember looking down at my feet and I was in this beautiful yellow gown.  I felt a comfortable and nervous all at the same time. I took Ulysses elbow and he introduced me to the room as his fiancé.  He was quite handsome for that time period.  His black hair slicked back and his equally black goatee and mustache. Highly decorated from what I could tell from his uniform. A girl like me set to marry a man of honor? Who would have thought?

 Of course, it was just a dream or maybe remembrance of a past life.  That of course would ultimately depend on if you believe in that kind of thing, but anyway. Of course the girl that I see today, it is hard to picture that she was ever set to marry a Confederate soldier.  It is makes me smile and laugh for so many reasons. However, that isn’t really the point of my ramble.

 The main point of the dream was a life and love that I dream of.  I mean, as I stated earlier, seriously into the Civil War.  I also cannot lie that I am (not so secretively) fascinated with Confederate grey.  It is weird, because I cannot honestly say why.  Maybe it is one of those connection kind of things. Maybe I’m channeling some 1864 Southern Belle or maybe there is that part of me that had to come to terms with the life that I do not fit into.  That last part requires some explanation, I know, but that is a completely different blog.  Anyway, the point is, my dream was about love and a life I dream of. 

 The more I think about it maybe it wasn’t really the Civil War portion and that was just coincidence.  In the dream, I was beautiful and people were happy when I walked into the room. I had a beautiful man that was proud to call me his.  I was kind of well off…respectable, if you will. I was everything that I wish I was now.  It was everything that I long to be.

 I often think of this dream, but today it was set off by a book,  The Widow of the South, a book about Carrie McGavock.  I could go into details, but let’s face it, my rambles are long enough without me giving you a history lesson.  The short of it is, she lived on a plantation that was taken over during the war as a hospital.  I loved the whole book, but the part that got to me the most was the love story hidden within.  

Mrs. McGavock was married to a man she loved, but in a way that one should love their spouse.  Her true love lay within a Confederate soldier, but she didn’t know this at the time.  When Zachariah Cashwell was brought to her home, she was drawn to him. She didn’t know why.  She ended up basically saving his life more than once. He was falling for her and she was falling for him.  They had a passionate love affair without all that messy intimacy that most think of when they think of affairs.  One kiss was all that was given.

 After he was well enough (and all the other soldiers had already been taken away), he was taken away to prison. He and Mrs. McGavock would not see each other for many of years.  They thought of each other often and when they finally did reunite, in her own words, it was like a piece of her had been absent for a long time but had returned. It was the kind of thing that indicated true connection, true love.

 Maybe it wasn’t true love and it is possible that this part of the story isn’t even true, but from the second she started coming out of her “black hole” of sadness, even I was pulling for them.  I found myself longing for his return and wanting to kick him for not telling her how he truly felt.  Still, it was obvious in the things that he did.  She made him want to be a better man and he stopped a 17 year old boy from be hanged by whipping him up and riding off into the sunset. He did it to protect someone Carrie was fond of; knowing that he couldn’t have her but could still help her.  Then when he was ready go home, he returned to her and the place that had saved him. I cried and never has a book made me cry.

 That is the kind of love I want. Not the forbidden kind, though, sometimes that seems to be the most passionate. I want the love that is not forced. The love that brings me out of deepest darkest place without me even knowing what it is.  The kind of love that last for years, even if we have to be apart, and the kind of love makes me feel complete when he is there. I want the kind of love that makes me feel as if I’m a Civil War princess walking into the room with everyone stopping and staring. I want to have the kind of love that only real life can hold. I want the kind of love that they write stories about but that you have to truly pay attention to realize that it is there. Not the scripted kind.

 Movies are fine and dandy. Yes, those kinds of love stories are possible.  Still, I’m not a scripted kind of girl.  If I did anything scripted, I’d be living a completely different life.  Not one that I can say, I would probably actually be fond of.  I’m a rebel and I just don’t do scripted.

~SMH~  Copyright 2013