Thought Drops on a Winter's Morn

I
                   dream freely
                                                           like
            a bird
                                                         reaching for freedom
                      against
                                          northerly winds
 cloaked
                                 in 
                                                      mystery
                                                                                   these
                stars
                              astound us
                                                          make
      us stop
                                breathe
                                                                         and listen.

Symbolic Escape (a magpie-inspired tale)

Inspired by the photo prompt at Magpie Tales

Treasured memories, of a thousand generations past,
Echo deeply from the spirit of her charm.
Cold stone against skin, a reminder of each soul lost,
But living on as the wisdom in her heart.

She reaches forward, cutting through the cold air,
This sullen place with its cold, bare walls,
Runs her fingers over each groove,
Tracing the metal textures, imagining.

Before this moment, this day, this nightmare,
Who had wore this memory piece?
Left it lying on the cool stone floor,
Of this prison that they have trapped her in.

Perhaps a gypsy as she travelled the forests,
Wearing this trophy around her olive-skinned neck.
Rich ruby hair tied off her worn face by a scarf,
As she held a tiny, crying child in her arms.

She breathes the touch of cool, wet moss,
Seems only too fresh, only to real,
Toes dangling in gurgling streams,
The rhythm of spring beating its bright song.

Perhaps a princess from a tropical paradise,
With flowing brown hair and a bee-stung pout,
Carefree and playful, he laughter like birdsong,
As she wandered through the palace gardens.

How she aches to see the flowers,
Swaying heads in the fresh, cool breeze,
Brushing hair across her spirited face,
As summer breathes its perfect song.

Perhaps a warrior woman, from ancient lands,
Riding her horse across the barren plains,
Her loyal army following eagerly,
Sharpening bloodied blades ready for a fight.

Deep pangs of her sorrow weep for this life,
Where she might climb aboard her horse and ride,
Freely seek those who imprisoned her here,
As autumn's gales rages on and on.

Such intrigue, such promise,
The anonymity driving her imagination,
The corners of the Earth wrapped around her,
A world to explore beyond these four, bleak walls.

Yet deep in her heart the fantasies serve,
Only to quell her desperate fear,
The terror of darkness for infinite time,
That clouds her head like a winter storm.