Out of the Darkness



  Copyright © 2015 Karen C Webb

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  SHADOW KEY

  Like Alice in Wonderland—locked doors everywhere

  Why can’t I find the key—life is so unfair

  My mind is searching everywhere. Searching, searching for the key

  To unlock the hidden thoughts buried deep inside of me

  Darkness holds the key. Midnight has the answer

  It’s locked away inside my head—like a shadow dancer

  There’s a door to the past—memories long since buried

  I open it to a flood of thoughts—under this weight I’ve carried

  I find the key, I open the door. Inside I see, my dreams are there

  Strange ideas and thoughts. Like nothing I’ve seen before

  The words await me beyond the door—new ideas for me to see

  Poems and stories, ideas so strange. Always there, but locked away inside of me

  I see the past as it was and what is yet to come

  Rooms full of memories—other rooms with none

  I see half-formed thoughts and scrambled words

  Untold stories with nouns, but no verbs

  The words are behind another door

  Locked away there, lying on the floor

  If only I could find the key

  The darkness in my mind—filled with shadows so sublime

  Wouldn’t be such a mystery

  The key lies in the darkness—hidden in my thoughts

  Shadows dance across my mind—memories I have sought

  Dark recesses of my mind are still a mystery

  Dreams unlock a door at night—by day, you need a key

  The shadow key is there—I see it become free

  Although it’s dark and scary—I’ve unlocked a piece of me

  As I walk through the shadows I see hallways unwind

  Pushing cobwebs to the side, exploring my own mind

  The hallway stretches for eternity—locked doors, I plainly see

  Through a door, into my thoughts—is where I long to be

  I turn the key, I open the door—the darkness so complete

  But through the door, the other side—words aren’t such a feat

  I see the valley of the shadow—death is everywhere

  If I’m locked inside my mind—who will even care?

  The door creaks open slowly—hinges long unused

  Leave the past behind me—the part of me that’s bruised

  A whole new space, an empty room—it sits there quietly waiting

  For my thoughts, for my words—for new ideas to bloom

  The future is unlocked—scary, but oh so bright

  The words unlocked the door—and ahead I see the light

  One room after another—I explore each cavity

  Opening doors inside my head—dreading what I’ll see

  One room full of memories—spirits come to life

  One room inside my mind—filled with so much strife

  One room holds the future—babies yet to come

  I hope I’m there to hold them—as my mother would have done

  One room filled with demons—I slam the door shut fast

  Out of the room comes darkness—I hear a trumpet’s blast

  Satan’s breath and Hellfire—a future I don’t want to see

  I lock that door forever and throw away the key

  I try to run, I cannot hide—the floor moves like a thrill ride

  The walls close in, the dark recedes

  But alas—I’m still trapped in me

  As visions become clear, the pain like a knife

  I see my thoughts more clearly, looking back on life

  An edge like a sword—a cross for me to bear

  As I wander through my mind—I fear I’ve gone nowhere

  I’m lost in a hallway—a hallway through my mind

  Locked doors of a corridor—locked for all time

  Midnight Visit

  A translucent being of willowy form

  Midnight spirits not yet born

  A churchyard asleep under a blood-red moon

  A wraith-like figure begins to bloom

  Out of the darkness, between headstones and plaques

  Arises the figure, come up from the black

  Her hair is the palest, golden and long

  She shimmers and wavers, she hums like a song

  Her dress is long and oh, so white

  It billows around her as she floats through the night

  She floats through town on Angels wings

  A beautiful apparition as if from a dream

  She floats through a door and on up the stairs

  Leaving no trace that she ever was there

  She enters a room where her children just might—

  Be dreaming about her as she bids them goodnight

  She kisses them softly amidst their cries—

  Of joy and happiness as she fades from their eyes.

  As we drove through the winter of 2013/2014, there was upon us what was known as a Polar Vortex. Temperatures day after day were in the negative 40’s with ice winds howling across I80. Chicago was jokingly known as Chiberia that winter. There were as much as 100 car and truck accidents a day across Illinois, Indiana and Ohio, often 100 car pileups at once. Cars crashed in front of us as we drove on the ice and snow. Highway patrol rescued the drivers and left crashed vehicles on the shoulders and in the ditches. I80 began to look like a junkyard of wrecked vehicles and it seemed as if the unbearable conditions would never end. Through March, with the unending winter still upon us, I began thinking, what if it never ended? Thank God, for us, it did end.

  Forever Winter

  The flakes float down around

  The stillness so complete

  A wonderland surrounds

  Until the spring the winter meets

  Icicles hang and sleigh bells ring

  Sledding fun, no thought of spring

  Christmas caroling for all to hear

  Resolutions promised and a new year

  Then Easter comes without a thaw

  A world still white, throughout it all

  No leaf of tree, they’ll bear no fruit

  No blade of grass from a frozen root

  No bushes, no flowers can possibly bloom

  No bees nor birds in the frozen gloom

  Stores are empty, but still we try

  As June appears—spring passed us by.

  No summer fun, no barbeques

  No thunderstorms, no rainbow hues

  A lightning flash on a wintry day

  Thunder booms, then goes away

  No summer sun, no cloudless day

  No poolside fun, no time for play

  End of August and still no sun

  Lakes still frozen, rivers don’t run

  World of white and winds never tamed

  It’s clear to us—summer never came

  September comes, and winter’s still around

  Corpses of cattle frozen to the ground

  As autumn approaches, no rain c
omes down

  Ice and snow and trees still brown

  No autumn harvest, no corn or wheat

  No sign of a thaw and nothing to eat

  We burn our roof, no firewood left

  It snows inside, where we sit, bereft

  As winter settles in and life looks bleak

  Like the hibernating bear, we sleep the big sleep

  A truckers view of America. I remember looking at one house near Kansas City, day after day and week after week, seeing the lights come on as we passed in the evenings, a family most likely sitting down to dinner, and wishing we saw our own house half as often.

  Highways of Time

  It seems like only yesterday

  It was all so fresh and new

  We were exploring the country

  We didn’t know what to do

  Across the Great Plains

  The desert southwest

  Wherever the wind blows us

  One city or the next

  Through rain and fog

  Through ice and snow

  On and on we must go

  Through sleet and hail

  Through dangerous winds

  No matter the weather

  The drive never ends

  As darkness settles in

  And the lights come on

  On we must drive

  The road has no end

  Through the Heartland and the Rockies

  Down steep grades and inclines

  Sometimes we have to ask

  Is it your shift or mine?

  Our life on the road

  Is a mile at a time

  Not knowing where we’re going

  Or even where we’ve been

  The road gets in your blood

  With no beginning and no end

  Our life on the road

  Has gone by in a flash

  But looking back across the miles

  We’ve made memories that will last

  Always on the road

  Time slips away

  A year goes by

  Like a month and a day

  But when the long drive is over

  And we’re safely at home

  A few days at idle

  And you feel the urge to roam

  With America as an office window

  From sea to shining sea

  We’ll keep on truckin’

  Just you and me.

  Funeral

  A mourning family circling a grave

  I lift my hand as if to wave

  The rain pours down around

  A huge and muddy mound

  They ignore me as they mourn and cry

  I can do nothing but try and try

  They break apart, they turn away

  I don’t know what to say

  Their tear streaked faces solemn

  I move slowly toward the coffin

  I Lift the lid so tenderly

  And inside what do I see?

  My God, I think that’s me

  This poem actually goes with the book: Dream of Echoes. I envisioned John and Kate writing this together, scribbling it on the logs of their cabin with pieces of charcoal from their fire. Then, I didn’t have the guts to include it in the book. I have no idea if my poems are any good or just some third graders idea of poetry. If it is third-grade, then by God, hang it on your fridge with a magnet.

  ECHOES OF STARLIGHT

  Of times long past

  A promise of destiny

  Of a tiny pioneer

  To bring out the best in me

  Echoes of starlight

  Off a river clear and bright

  Of dancing by the firelight

  On a cold winter’s night

  Of illness and death

  Our lives in God’s hands

  'til you take your last breath

  Whatever his plans

  Of forests and wild things

  And what the day brings

  Of ideas and dreams

  Nothing as it seems

  Of providence and fate or futures past

  Of hearts entwined at any rate

  Of what’s to come, a love that lasts

  Hand in hand at the Pearly Gate

  I have nothing to say about this piece. Stop talking long enough and listen; the desert will speak for itself.

  Southwest Sonata

  To see a desert willow

  Or an ocotillo in bloom

  Thunderheads over the mountain

  Throughout the month of June

  The darkness is unequaled

  The stars so bright

  Then a full moon rises

  And casts its silvery light

  The silence is incredible

  It hums in your ears

  A peace and beauty so unique

  It lasts throughout the years

  The mountains are like monoliths

  Rising from the sand

  Like the great Egyptian pyramids

  Without the touch of man

  There are burros and coyotes

  Wild horses running free

  The desert is not empty

  If you just know what to see

  Morning sun on sagebrush

  The colors blue and green

  The smell of Pinon and juniper

  Wildflowers in the spring

  Deep canyons and washes

  And cliffs made of stone

  I thank God every day

  To call this place my home

  I have no clue where this poem came from. Perhaps there was a history show on in the background. Whatever the case may be, I clearly remember grabbing a piece of paper and scribbling this down. No changes, no editing. This is how it came out. Ask the muse, she knows.

  A WARRIORS CRY

  Sands of Normandy quake of death

  An uphill battle, no pause to rest

  A warrior’s cry, a Mustang’s roar

  Sands of red—a life no more

  A chamber hums—a cross to bear

  Under the feet, a madman’s lair

  A midnight whistle, a siren’s wail

  Cries of children, a glimpse of Hell

  An attic room—a family lost

  Bars and cages—convictions tossed

  A fortress on air or so it seems

  A sky of orange, as if in dreams

  A city tortured—a wall still stands

  A long lost echo of the horrors of man

  A POET'S POEM

  It comes bubbling up from deep inside

  Strange thoughts and words you cannot hide

  It can’t be taught, a professor doesn’t know

  It comes from the heart, from the heart it must flow

  It strings together, much like a song

  There is no right, it can never be wrong

  Like a mist it comes whistling throughout the mind

  You see the fog clear with the passage of time

  You feel it—you see it—you know it’s true

  It leaves you exhausted as it flows out of you

  The lyrical effect of poetry and verse

  A sonnet, a poem, a prose so terse

  A world of desires deep in your heart

  To be inspired, your words to impart

  An expression of the soul, it’s what you must do

  You must get it down, while it’s still fresh and new

  House of Dreams

  A nightmare becomes reality

  the walls absorb the dreams

  And release them back onto me

  This house, it holds my dreams

  It holds each nightmare, or so it seems

  I know it can't be true

  How can a nightmare, once so new—

  haunt me in this house I love

  shadows creeping from up above

  I dreamt my death the other night

  waking suddenly, before the fright—

  can kill me as I lay asleep

  Now it's real and I should weep

&nb
sp; the death I dreamed so vividly

  alive and here now, it's come for me

  Through this old house, whose walls contain

  Dreams I've had, of being slain

  In my dream, a burglar entered

  He killed me in my sleep—his aim, dead center

  I fear it's real now, this dream I had

  I'll die tonight, and the house is glad

  THE MUSE

  A muse waits in line, a shadowy form

  Not male, nor female, it awaits it's turn

  For a creative mind, to open and bend

  A blond girl's thoughts, to let it in

  The muse, it leaps and lands on the brain

  Like a butterfly on a rose, in a midsummers rain

  The muse lands softly, arms loaded with words

  Stories and poetry, as yet unheard

  The blond girl writes, as fast as she can

  Wondering where it comes from, words with no plan

  She knows the muse is there, she's sees the shadow on her mind

  Never wondering how it got there, but thanking it in kind

  The blond girl is the outlet, the muse channels through

  Spilling out the stories, old as well as new

  The muse unleashes dozens, into blond girl's head

  Stories yet untold, waking from the dead

  The blond girl reads through them, occasionally, from time to time

  Words she doesn't remember, stories from a different mind

  THE NIGHT BELONGS TO US

  We travel with the creatures that move through the dark

  Lost in a desert, no roads or landmarks

  Our fate lies in darkness and do it we must

  But at least now we know, it belongs to us

  Strange things move within the gloom

  Unseen shadows and threat of doom

  With limited sight, our ears we trust

  Knowing the night belongs to us