Stories and poetry from an overly-curious traveler. Stories shape the way I see the world, and I want to share my stories with you.
Hello all,
Thank you for your encouragement and support for my writing. I wrote and published a book of poetry recently.
Please check it out on Barnes and Noble or Amazon 🙂
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-house-of-empty-spaces-julie-sequoia-webb/1142852123
With gratitude,
Julie
I walk at night
With no place to go
Illuminated by the iridescent light
The soft snow falling around me
I’m alone
The streets are empty
The sky reflects off the dull white
Glowing brightly
A hazy melancholy
I bundle up tightly
Can’t feel my toes
But I want to walk
I wore all my clothes
Prepared
To get lost
To be in the snow
Soft flakes kiss my face
In the vacant night
I have so much space
So much room
A faint outline of the full moon
Subtly shines through
I move through the snow gently
With no place to be
Called forth by the storm
My desire to think
Stronger than my want to be warm
It’s like seeing the streets
With no makeup on
Unwinding
Just before they go to sleep
An intimate moment
A special time
Walking in the snow at night
Is my secret
My peace of mind
My eyes are jade daggers, light dancing
Reflections of sadness and all things felt but not said
A portal into my soul
Dimension and color that morphs with tears
My eyes say all the things words cannot
They speak every language and understand every emotion
They smile
My beauty is not external, but internal and you can only access it through my olive eyes
Words are finite
Don’t look at me, look into me
My green light shines on you
Only here can I share, my power, pain, my experience, my light
My eyes wander
I weep freely
Dancing in emotion, healing
I close my eyes
And in the shapes and patterns
I see myself for the first time
I Pick you up, caress your fragile pages,
I get lost in you,
I climb into your spine.
In other people’s lives, and stories,
But I make them my own.Â
I absorb your expression.
Stories unfold on the page,
But they exist in my mind.
I’m the creator of other worlds.Â
But you were my first love,
Friend, companion,Â
My way out of the darkness.
A tangible escape.
I’m trapped in this prison of a room,
Afraid to leave.
But I’m transported into another place,
Through you.
And for a few hours I’m free.
I’m safe.
I exist in a place with emotion, unafraid.
I wanted to be somewhere else,
Somewhere happier,
And you took me there through words on your thin crisp pages.Â
Stories shape the way I see the world.
I retreat into myself again,
And lose myself, my problems.
My mind entertains someone else’s life.
Real or imagined,
I have empathy, understanding,
Awareness of other existence.Â
And I’m healed through your stories.
My creativity expands,Â
You stayed with me,Â
Through the growing pains.
Tears falling on the page,
Your words got me through.
Words have the power to destroy,
And to heal
I don’t want to watch,
I want to pick you up, hold you,
Be mesmerized and transformed by you,
You travel with me,
To a better place.
And now I give back,
What has been given to me.
Through writing.
Tunnels of yellow, raining gold. Sunlight penetrates the forest, a symphony of dancing leaves, the wind is nature’s song. Pay attention.
Golden yellow leaves shimmer in the muted morning light, playfully calling me forward. I walk along an empty path. Do I always need to know where I’m going?
Thousands of warped eyes urge me on, smiling softly. Knotted eyes that are unaffected by pandemics, media, my shifting thoughts and feelings, yet are changing all the same. I’m content and alone, surrounded by life, colors, the slightest noises if I just pay attention.
Pay attention.
Yellow fills me up and at the same time empties me. Vibrant life drastically contrasts with bareness. Stillness and movement. Empty branches. Reaching out into nothingness, beckoning the cold, the shift into winter. Darkness is coming. But not now. I rake my hand through your shimmering, delicate petals.
Yellow.
Orange and red, gentle wind carrying them slowly away, a crescendo that’s almost the end, for now. Delight and sadness is expressed through my eyes, feelings unidentified and unfelt. I know it’s okay to bring them here. All the silly things I’ve created with my mind become yellow, color, absorbed by the crisp fall air and sun.
Yellow currants ripple through the trees. Making waves against the pale blue sky.
Can I allow the colors to expand in my spirit, in my body, even though I know it will soon be gone? Can I close my eyes and lay in this field of yellow, in the crunchy brown and orange silhouettes of what used to be, and know that everything is okay? Right now.
Yellow.
Can I be quiet enough to be present? Can I enjoy the moment even though I know it will pass?
Julie Sequoia Webb 