She painted starlight jars with silver ink
to hold the thoughts she would think
Scrawling notes on loose leaf scraps
she rolled them up in old burlap
She buried each jar in her backyard
on a full moon night so full of dreams
They seemed all at once discarded
beneath the branches of a willow tree
In her nightgown she would meditate
on sacred ground so very late
knowing life would spring from the seed
she had planted so she could breathe
Quietly she tiptoed home
before he knew where she had gone
This was her only time alone
where she could whisper a brave new song
Garden of the hidden voice
grow into your freedom now
Bring the fruit of hope and choice
so she can escape the night somehow
YOU ARE READING
Mystic River
PoetryPoets are often connected to their dreams. They have a vivid and creative spirit. These poems share and explore that connection to an inner and mysterious place. What are dreams? Why do we dream? What purpose do dreams have? Explore these ideas with...
