Walking Stardust

dreamcatcher1


Walking Stardust

Breathing in the warmth of your skin,
your eyelashes flutter like petals, sleeping.

I stare into the dusty black room.
Light creeps through the blinds.
Hitting the wall with its luminous glow.

A romantic feeling pulses through the layers of my skin.

I am optimistic that no other being will
make me feel the way you do.

We are walking stardust,
bound together by emotion.

A dream catcher hangs at the end of our bed.
An origin that negativity can be captured
and rays of light can be bestowed upon
a sleeping mind.

It watches, protects, believes
in us.

The infinity of our love,
our connection.
our worth.
our dreams.

This is one of the poems from my final poetry portfolio at university. The poem is in its early stages, we are learning about innovative forms and how poetry can be presented in a different way this year and my idea with this poem, is to write the different stanzas on small pieces of paper, hole punch them and attach them to a dream catcher with string. I will post a photograph in a few months of the final piece but for now… this is the first draft of my poem Walking Stardust.

Diagnosis, On A Sunday Morning

hospitalwaitngroom

Monotonous
Coughing, spluttering.
Sirens of babies, whimper.
Chairs lined up like soldiers in
the hospital white.

Diagnosis, on a Sunday morning.
Waiting, Aching, Waiting, Watching.

Lights dim, low music soothes.

Disinfectant fumes,
burn my morning eyes.

Blood, Bandages and Boredom.
Tonsils need attention but
the young before the old.

Anxious toddler cries, the clock
pushes forward. The parents wait.

My head is thumping,
my throat itches, it cracks.

Pins and Needles surfaces through my feet.

People hope, people wait.
For the magic pill.

The space is getting tighter,
like an old, worn jumper.
People demanding their corners,
their space, to breathe – no fresh air.
Diagnosis, on a Sunday afternoon.

My name echoes
Bounces off the walls