Cottage

That little cottage sitting on a hill,
overlooking what once was a silver place,
where moonlight guided all of the spirits to their destinations.


That little cottage
which stands lonely now,
abandoned by the Wind.
Only silence has come to claim it,
as a fading breath
slips from the windows
and through the cracks in the floor,
lying mute and pervasive in that dark place,
in the shadows behind chairs,
in the cracked foundations of the heart.


The closet door stands open,
the only words left in this house, telling me
You once shut this door on yourself 
and lived here, in all the hidden corners of a child's closet– 
I was the doll.
This the paper castle in which I lived my Night.


~TL Shreffler

Grow

I want to grow graciously outward,
To leave behind the Riverbend,
To drop what I can do without,
Come quietly to myself again.

I want to riddle up and secret down,
Do more than simply long to go,
I want to find that tune in me
To strengthen strings and follow flow.

I want to find a sacred song,
An answered prayer, a name and verse--
By seeking you, I seek myself,
And so, your love I follow first.

Moon

Light is not a natural place
for those who set their roots in darkness.

Some of us have lived in winter for so long,
Spring is the most torturous bloom.

The night swallowed us.
Still, we found the moon.

~TL Shreffler

Grove

I walk through the forest where
He is still waiting, there
In the deep woods, a statue overgrown
With moss. I can still kneel
And brush my fingers across
The clay cleverness
Of an aged face
Weathered by all seasons -- Love,
The sacred grove remains.

Lift

She was wolf girl in the lift,
Powerful and free.
Nothing but her will, her body,
The weight, lifting,

Stress on muscles, straining--
Teeth grit through the midst of it,
Freeing

All the pain, courageous, she
     always preferred to feel --
a freeing breath --
         -- release.

Wildflowers

I love poetry like wildflowers,
     no single standard.
Can you imagine living
     that anonymous life by the roadside?
What if that flower became a woman
     and one day walked to market
         in the heat of bustle and bees,
and saw all the human varieties,
     no single standard?


 -T. L. Shreffler

I don't know where the flowers run anymore,
I don't know where the brick path leads.
Once, I searched for bottles on a deserted shore--
I knew well where sky and ocean would meet--

But our certainty crumbles like sand over time,
We live as things are, not how they should be,
And all our right paths turn left in the end,
Or dead-end at a pondersome sea.

So I don't know anymore why the willows grow tall,
Why the skylark calls, why the sunset bleeds.
I really can't say what I want from this world,
But the world will always have me.