Monthly Archives: January 2014

The Silence of Innocence....

Picture taken by a woman from Russia of her child…

Gentle red reaches out as
ominous bends, protrudes in grotesque

Pint-sized piddles lays eyes
to the heavens, as spooky
finds color in elongated tendrils…

Hues tangle on sympathy, on
the smiles of the dead…

Strange only have shadows, never
weeping rainbows….

For a short time silhouettes
flush, the grey curtain parted,
rays of whimsical giggle and

White gloved fingers steal the nights breath
as it covers the mouth of the earth.

Silencing the land in a raspy voice to lay
and listen…

Listen as Santa’s¬†twinkle teases us with holiday.
Rosy nature plays in the heavenly tears, like
a blessing of rebirth.

Petals so soft touch my tongue, entering like
a lover, melting against my warmth.

Paling the sky with silvery Christmas
draping down in tinsel.
Stilled, blanket covers in solemn prayers….


Dirty pavements walk it’s lonely journey
in black and white.

Seasons pass on your stranded lips,
only to open and swallow you whole.

Cars pass, not a notice of your presence,
just that of their hungry lives.

Their breaths wave at you, slapping
you in the face.

The sun warms your surface, never
the embrace of a hug.

The wind pushes you alone, a long
forgotten touch, but never gets
you where you need to go…

You hitch for the company, expressions
never find their way to faces…

Days pass in weary shadows, death
the forgiveness you need.

Leaves the reminder of memories gone,
snow the renewal, flowers that will never
adorn your grave.

What if my blood fell….
coloring my flesh in cherry hues,

tracing the lives I have lived,
winding through veined gardens..

Would your hands become cupped,
the taking of my communion?

Would you slit a smile to kiss my
soul? The heavens have fallen to grant me a wish.

My lips frail in stains, white, dead….
Will you drink me, taking your greedy fill,
imprisoning my reflection to take on another face?

Will your tongue taste the last drop of me
only to arouse your appetite, licking your fingers?
Your mouth touches my skin in pools of auburn,
becoming numb, I am no more….

Summoning colored fingertips to dance
over my shadow in wispy frolicks.

Come, dance with me…
Cast your melody, follow me

Orange, red, and yellow,
glowing in silent awakening.

The moon draws your colors upon
the sky, fairies coloring the heavens.

Alone you sit, no stars to listen.
Crisp laughter mocks your pondering,
yet you see the future.

Come, waken the night, your silver
putting children to sleep, lovers to gaze,
and now, my eyes upon yours, beams
playing along my silhouette, opening
your mystic hush…

Tickling colors as your voice
startles, surrendering to crayon

Scattering pictures of Spring and
Summer with naked fingertips.

Crisp voices hurry the intruder, as rainbows

Witches spell, pumpkins dare, all
for Halloween brewing…
Mystery looms, come solve me….

Luke Atkins

Film, Music, and Television Critic

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. . .can you imagine?

During the days in which I choose to conform, I do so with a specific feeling in mind that I want to achieve. A sort of climax that I aim to reach. A feeling effortlessly maintained between the ages of 6-9 and again between the ages of 13-15, when being a girl was simply one of the numerous ways of being.


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Paranormal Author, Artist & Empath. Follow Sheila on Twitter, Facebook & Instagram! @sheilareneeparker