By Nikki Anne Schmutz


They call to me
from the shelf I can’t reach.
The layers of dust seem careless –
but I know better.
Like a blanket
it swaddles,
acting as a protector
to a box of reverence
for what was saved.

It takes refuge in shadows
where sight means nothing.
Here souls become eyes
seeing a hidden world
waiting for resurrection.
Dwelling within this realm
is truth preserved.

Words said and unsaid,
celestial smiles,
stabs of regret,
hurricanes of fury,
breezes of heart sighs,
suffocating closeness,
intimate distances,
heavenly pin pricks of hope given
from somewhere unknown.

I pull them out of the box,
study each recollection
where my secrets reside.
One by one – I set them free,
watch them take flight
like butterflies with broken wings
on the breeze of fate.

My wants, my needs
allowed to manifest.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s