poetry by
J. T. McAlister

 

Changeling

She goes walking by the water
With a needle in her hand
For she's sewing strands of seaweed
In a tangled, twisted band
And she's smiling soft and gentle
As she sees the needle gleam
Like the sun that melts the night fog
In the shadows of my dream

And I want to walk beside her
As she paces on the sand
But her needle wounds my spirit
When I reach to take her hand
And I cannot call her to me
Yet I cannot let her go
For there is no path beyond her
And no pain she does not know

So I watch in weary silence
As her shining needle weaves
And my dreams lie dead around me
Like the autumn's fallen leaves
For she falters as I watch her
And the morning light is dull
As it glances off the seaweed
She has formed into a skull

And I want to walk beside her
As she paces on the sand
But her needle wounds my spirit
When I reach to take her hand
And I want to call her to me
Though I need to let her go
For I see the path beyond her
And she is the pain I know

J. T. McAlister

 

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