Stacey Dye

I am an open book.
Nothing special, just a five and dime romance.
Since the fifties found me,
I’ve longed to exude a little mystique.

A carefree, earthy kind of ease
steeped in bohemian style.
Long skirts and poets blouses that hint
at the moon and stars painted on my shoulder.

Embraced by lavender’s scent and silver bangles
that chime with every gesture.
My ebony dusted eyes twinkle with glitter
emulating the stars I adore.

I pay homage to mother moon,
the Goddess of Nature,
the controller of the ocean’s tides
and those of our bodies as well.

My aura is visible always,
my karma, pure.
I fear not for what might come my way
since I have conducted myself honorably

all the days of my life.
I speak softly, and judge not.
As my spirit evolves, so do the depth
and the breadth of the stories

I share willingly and often.
Then, each night I retire,
knowing I have accomplished noble deeds
in this world and sleep accordingly.