Byzantine Women

A mocking bird is heard

the woman lifts and tilts her head back; the sound is barely audible,

The reference is clear; we are all familiar with her gesture.

Barefoot and clothed in feminine flowing gaze

She may be a Victorian maiden so womanly is she.

She opens an ornate window of long ago.

Immediately her beautiful face

becomes part of the window frame; the gentle wind lends life

over delicately seasoned cheeks.

Tears fall now in a forest that is not of this world,

the spectacular vision is a feast for eyes.

Her gown is blowing causing a scene. 

What can be peering, not a man or what we know to be.

Giant boulder is seen up ahead, rest and dream another dream for now

Her dreams teach this: accept what is thrown before; 

when this is achieved, happiness is met.

Is this an easy lesson to grasp?

It is a part of life that is mastered and perfected

Occasionally there will be a hole and some will fall,

but her gown stays clean now

with just hints of grey that brush off so casually.

Interest is peaked; there is a bog and its mystery

Afraid of the unknown, just wash this away with a soldier's mind.

There are sparkles of light that go on and off--something similar to fireflies

She tries to catch living lights, then suddenly one comes into view

tiny women with wings that shimmer illuminating the sky.

Out of nowhere a terrible sound! Trees are falling;

the magical world that surrounds, gone in a puff of smoke.

She is flying too fast to understand.

Can anybody help?

Up through the bedroom window, falling into bed, like a Raggedy Ann doll,

but this time all the eyes are sewn in place.

Waking up, now pondering is life a dream, or is a dream life?

This question will be a part of her, and maybe never spoken.

Beautiful misunderstood woman

tarnishing pillowcase, leaving stains of salt