On The Cold Brick Floor

Through tender archers I
wake the dream, a crisp haze
among the field of new beginnings
…this possibility that challenges my
soul to breath

Through new dimensions of an
awareness’s beacon, watching
the sanguine rose and fire shells
explode across the horizon of
morning spies spying, I see clarity

Lurking in the shadows where
quietude whispers to the calm
caretaker of the gallow's hostage,
burdened by emotional prisons, that
corral hearts and steal servitudes

Shrink locking like plastic snap dragons
and paper roses, that have been spilled with
broken mason jars on the cold brick floor
while I watch the feathers float on a still breeze
...I am reminded of my unfading love for you

Poetry Collections: Victoria L. McColley