This was written C. Madria Stevens
Departing Not
C. Madria Stevens
When we dream,
Diamonds begin to fall from the sky,
Holding clouds,
Sparkling for even the saddest eyes.
Without wind,
You’ll hold clouds in the palms of your hands
And leave here,
Where the butterflies are but dead leaves.
Skeletons
Aimlessly flying close to the ground,
Not soaring
Or showing off their colors of spring.
I am tired
And my voice is hoarse from screaming doubts.
But still yet,
My dreams don’t tire from asking for help.
Naturally,
I’ll only seek out the best places.
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