She Is

She Is

She is the silly little girl

With nonsensical thoughts

That ramble and rush

In waxy, inky hues

Coloring a world from white

She is the dreamy headed dandelion

A thousand wishes blossom

That release in a breeze

Humming a song of freedom

Not bound by boundaries

She is the ever phasing moon

Warmth at the core of a frosty, brilliant light

A beacon for far reaching possibilities

The keeper of silent secrets

A generous promise to all impractical dreamers

E.A. O'Connell

Lemmings To The Movement

Dark and wet,

the earth radiates a scent of green

and a metallic taste on tip of tongue

Weathered grasses brush legs,

with touch of an uncertain lover

whose calloused hands reveal life of true toil

The horizon crests in a wave,

threatened by distant lightning,

spurred by the heated atmospheric tension

As the wanderers congregate,

stepping to the edge in unison

oblivious of the age old map above,

unacquainted with lost civilization below

Misguided by voices of generations gone slant

the persuading magnetic pull,

forces hasty retreat

but not before the brief hesitating stun

of perilous possibilities

But then washes the never mind,

and the thought hazing drive,

so head first they die,

an innate diving blind

E.A. O’Connell