Red Soul Daughter

Hello my lovelies, I just wanted to share a poem with you inspired by one of my WIP’s Ashes, I hope you enjoy! 😀

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Red Soul Daughter

I wasn’t born to be that girl,

I fight to live, I will not turn.

She whispers inside, I ignore,

that siren call, red soul daughter.

***

I wasn’t born to feel her pain,

that Summer Girl in ashes slain.

She starts to flow beneath my skin,

that siren call, red soul daughter.

***

I wasn’t born to wear her crown,

our lives destroyed, I won’t back down.

I live again, I have become,

that siren call, red soul daughter.

Dreaming Of Ashes

Here’s a little snippet from one of my WIP’s called Ashes, (I call this scene Mother). I hope you enjoy! 😀

It’s been over twenty years and I still dream about her nearly every night. Her copper eyes – my eyes –twinkle back at me from an unearthly lovely face framed by dark, flowing black hair as she laughs –a throaty, feminine sound – at something I cannot see or do not remember. The crown of blue ink stands out vividly against her pale brow, and I long to trace those entwined lines with my fingertips again, feeling the slight ridge where marked skin meets flawless porcelain. Her face is as familiar to me now as it was then; other details of that life long ago have faded, but not this. Often I find her near our home, standing amid the stark beauty of the reddish-brown desert with the heat of the sun bearing down upon us both as we search each other’s faces for traces of the passage of time. There are other faces in these dreams as well – dark, blurry images – that leave me with a tingling sensation of home and something lost, but always I reach for her.

At times she evades me and hides in the darkness of the place I cannot enter, a place she won’t let me near. The darkness is off-limits, a place out-of-bounds and forbidden, even here in my own dreams. Don’t…don’t look back.

Some nights she weeps there in the darkness and for a brief moment I can see her stretched over-top a pile of stones where she slumps into herself, broken and sobbing, asking me where I’ve been, why I’ve not come to find her yet. Help me…help me Ryzan, she begs before she begins screaming, those awful, tearing screams that haunt me and leave me shaken and drained for days afterward. Her piercing voice shifts from agonizing howls of pain, to gorge-rising screams of fear, before finally becoming the guttural shrieks of rage, so filled with hatred that I’m suddenly thrust back, forced from her presence as though shoved by a full-blooded vampyre.

From these dreams, I always awake trembling and reaching for her, fearing that once again I am lost and knowing that for a moment, she had been near enough to grasp. Thankfully these dreams are few, and most nights I merely see her smiling face haloed by the buttery, yellow light of the desert sun – the face of my memory – and I know. She is out there still, waiting for me to find her.

One day I will.

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Beautiful Agony

A mermaid’s last night on land, dancing in the arms of her Prince…

 

Beautiful Agony:

 

Rippling fire tears the flesh of my newfound legs,

Burning searing, blazing.

Glancing down,

I’m surprised that my skin hasn’t blackened and split open,

Wide and ugly.

A thousand sharp shards prick mercilessly

Beneath the petal-soft surface,

Insistent and urgent, until I want to fall,

Down to the ground and cry my pain

To the loving sea.

 

But I am strong.

I stand tall and straight,

And I dance through the pain for him,

My prince…my love.

He bows to me and extends an exquisite hand,

My heart stops and I smile through the tears,

As he folds me in his arms.

It is a beautiful agony.

 

We dance, but my steps aren’t yet sure,

And sometimes I falter;

But he always catches me and holds me tight.

Anchoring me to the now,

To this new form

Where I fear I do not belong.

 

Can he love me in my silence?

Can he see the beauty of my form

Beneath the faltering of my steps?

And hear the longing voice of my heart,

Bubbling up towards the surface

As we dance and glide,

Beautiful and breathless,

Two creatures made to love

Yet born to be forever separate?

 

He smiles and pulls me closer,

But fear pricks tiny wounds in my heart.

I have such little time,

Only a few hours left until my death,

And only he can save me from the dawn.

 

Hurry my love,

It’s almost too late.

Soon I will be lost forever,

And you shall never find me again,

No matter how long you search.

I will be nothing more

Than soft foam atop desolate waters,

A memory,

A testament to what might have been.