Paperweight Poetry

Dear Mother, Sing not to me a lullaby, Of fairy tales that are only lies, Warble words of more than spiders so small, Sing me the truth or sing me nothing at all. -anna sluder

Do you think that dreams every get tired of being nothing but a dream?  Nothing but a fleeting hope,  Some come true, but what about all the other dreams  That begin dancing with a human soul in a golden ballroom,  Until soon the white floors are stained black with ash, And the walls drip not in the gold of wonder and hope, but the gold marrow of fire,  And what's worse isn't that that dream is dancing in a burning room,  And the dream will be brought down to ashes so soon,  But that the human will too.  -anna sluder

Tonight the sun is wearing a pink dress  And as horizon tugs at her zipper, drawing it slow like golden honey Down her rosy breasts and over her flaming hips Even though he knows she will burn him  and leave to rise in a couple hours again  He takes her in, all of her,  For what a tragedy it is to not love the whole of someone So he accepts it all  From the delicate pastel of her skin to the fire in her bones.  -anna sluder 

Perhaps if I had loved you more as the person that you are Instead of the man I knew you wanted to be Your heart wouldn't have been twisted to nothing but the dust of stars  From all the demands that made you as bound as the fact that chains aren't free.  -anna sluder

Take a left at the willow tree And look for the spot where the horses roam free Where the budding flowers frolic wild Where I danced in them as a child  Feel for the sodden patch of earth that gives way  Where the clovers mark the date of that fateful day   And kneel down and trench for a mossy hole  Where once you reach three quarters down you will find my soul.  -anna sluder

This hand is an old hand, wrinkled and worn with love, Helping the fallen people stand, These feet are indelible feet, who'd walk miles and miles for you, Whether it is continents or paths of just a few, These eyes, are warm eyes that see you as whole and new, Even when you don't want me to, This heart, is a beating heart that pulses to the songs of the trees, That breathes and sighs this world's harmony, I am, who I am just as you are who you are, This soul, is my soul and it is made of the stars.  -anna sluder

Today she breathes stardust And tomorrow she will breathe flames She is as infinite as the constellations that never rust And as vast as galaxies without names.  -anna sluder