The Sweetie Chronicles

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. ~William Wordsworth

Three Poems

Today finds me at a loss of what to write about, so instead I will share a couple of poems that I wrote a while back. They are a bit rough, but from the heart.

Memory

In a bar across town
We gathered with smiles
And friendly faces.
I eased into the moment
Afraid of the hopes it held
In laughter and good time fun.
But just as I began to breathe
Someone lit the mach
And inhaled depply.
The source of it all was there
On the table burning slowly
Like a fogotten campfire.
I watched as the white ghost of it
Raised up in circles
Twisting and slightering upwards.
It danced with the air around me
And became a part of the mood
Of the place...
I watched, unable to move,
A the phantom snake
Coiled around my neck.
I couldn't help but breath it in.
And even then I knew
That later I would be able
To smell it in my hair.

Homecoming

I Remember swimming in the basement
of the hotel my last night in Frankfurt.
the pool drinking the tears from my eyes,
savoring them like salt-water taffy
deep in the water's womb
the hum in my ears was almost a lullaby
almost peace
each sound a muffled cousin of its true-self
but I could find no sanctuary
in the immersion
i used to Love as a child.
I Remember-
as a child, I used to Love -
but I do not remember the flight across the sea -
only my mother's face
and the way it felt to be coming home.

Reversal

My body is an open cup,
my cave is mystery, designed to receive
yet hidden and warm and dark.
Your body is a piercing sword,
Your rock is earth-bound, penetrating,
solid and towering and strong.

Yet, it is you who is mysterious.
It is you who opens your mouth and leans your head back
while I pour myself into you like a waterfall.
No wonder it makes me want you more.
You expand my emptiness,
punctuate my need for you.

Be careful with this role reversal
or you may become the one who,
not designed to hold it in,
is so full you fall to the ground in a wasted splash,
instead of releasing yourself in that thrust of love
and passion I wonder if you’ve ever truly felt…
while I become but a speck of dust on your hand,
a ghost of feeling, dried out,
and brushed away on the wind.

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Sarra Cannon

Young Adult Indie Author

I always secretly wanted to be a cheerleader. And a witch. Now, I write about both. The first five novels in my Peachville High Demons Young Adult Paranormal series are available now in ebook!

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Beautiful DemonsThe Time Traveler's WifeLoveroot: PoemsFear of FlyingWe the LivingAnthem

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