little witch

little witch
it is a howling night
my bare feet, calloused, walk the black top
almost flying in youth and freedom
the darkness glows orange

my bare feet, calloused, walk the black top
i am a child still
the darkness glowing orange
with particles reflecting streetlights

i am a child no more
i tasted lust that summer
in the forest with leaves in my hair
and no love worth the word

i tasted power that night
alone and fearless, stalking
in love with myself and my words
willful and filled with wild

alone and fearless, stalking
through the windfull night
willful and wild
i see the silent cars patrolling

through the windfull night
he asks if everything’s alright
i say yes sir
and watch the silent cars move on

better than alright
i have tasted nectar
but i say nothing
and go back indoors

i have tasted nectar
and it numbed my toes
back indoors
i run hot water

my naked toes are numb
and feel nothing for many minutes
hot water soaks through chill
and i cry silently on the side of the tub

wishing i could again feel nothing
while thankful that i do
i cry silently in the house full of sleepers
who missed the fury

thankful i survived
my youth and lived to tell the tale
i miss the fury
but bask in mature hopes

the tales of youth
howling nights
basking in old glories
on another evening glowing orange

Twenty-five year old me writing about fourteen year old me.

I didn’t know what to call that night.  I couldn’t sleep and the wind howled.  I slipped out and went walking.  Completely fearless.  Barefoot.  Totally faithful I was safe and loved.

Maybe I should have titled this poem “baby mystic” or something.  This was one of many dangerous, strange, insane things I did in search of God or running after God.  Something in me heard Her calling in that wind and just went.  Some people might call it poor teenage judgement or training to be a crazy cat lady.  No harm ever came to me following that voice I heard with my heart.  The worst that happened was numb, cold feet and a stiff neck.  He comes, He calls.  Don’t think.  Just answer.  Open the door.  Go meet Him in the howling wind.  Barefoot.  In your pajamas.  Step into the Kingdom.

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
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1 Response to little witch

  1. Pingback: 1996-2016: A Sample of 20 Years | the liminal life of m

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