Dandelion De La Rue

When Silence is the Only Option

Sometimes words
are useless creatures –
unable to express
the anger
disbelief
and anguish at
The deaths of
sacred illusions,
illusions made foolish
by time.
If it wasn’t
your illusion
you can’t sincerely
mourn its passing
or empathize with those
who watch with sorrow
as it morphs into a
dirty cobweb in a corner
of your memory.
And the Truth?
What of that?
Where is it?
Perhaps you think you know.
Or perhaps one day
your truths will
drift away
and you will mourn them,
and bury them
without honors.
And you will have no words

Wonderland in a Tree

Escaping Druidlike
into the tree
a light filled hollow
opening up,
warm and beckoning.

So Alice stands
before it, waiting
for the warmth,
hair growing into the earth
in perfect ringlets
in harmony, matching the tree
her arms open
hugging air
healing by the light
and belonging there.

Healing from
the evil queens
and silly cards
who paint the roses red
thinking nature
should match the wallpaper.

Healing from
the Prozak addled masses
who no longer think
or just no longer care.

Healing from
the pain, the sneers,
of those who think
that kindness is a weakness.

Healing from
arrogant science
which would deny
and criticize
the wisdom of the natural world.

Healing from
the frenzied bringers of
religions and advice
who shout with dedication
that only they
are privy to the truth.

Alice knows better,
she listens to the tree,
it told her so
and teaches her to blend
into the real reality.