Dregs

          

         What am I looking...what I am looking for,

but the truth inside the dregs.

How long will I live for,

how will I die,

where will I go,

will I meet somebody, anybody new,

will my plans fall through,

or will I fail to succeed,

which I want to believe

is not meant for me?

The dregs, the dregs will tell me...let me see...

I see a cross, a white large cross,

which is good.

 A ceremony, a wedding perhaps,

all in good mood.

What's that black thing over there...

Oh..it's a crow...bad news,

I knew that.... I swear,

and a tall man will come to me, he'll say things..

oh! he holds a key!

A key to a locked door...

that was what I was hoping for!

And who's that woman over there?

With raven hair...she has a child in her care..?

That could be me, I guess that's true,

but she looks so old and dark and blue!

That's not me! I'm young and fresh.

No..no..she's definitely someone else!

The dregs sometimes go very wrong,

the cup is dark...this takes too long...

The black blobs around the brim have come to pass..

there's the money I owe and the money I'll get back at long last,

a very narrow road lies straight ahead,

perhaps my fortune is hidden there instead.

The middle blobs will make me weep...

...a dear friend is bound to leave..

But what's that at the bottom of the cup,

where the affairs closer to the heart lie flat?

A gory tale will meet its fiery end,

and will eventually be sent.

(This will come to pass

 when I find the time to write at last)

The dregs have spoken once more,

I'd better go see who's at the door...

Anticipation (Anna was waiting)

Anna was waiting for a knock on the door.

It was dark but for the fire which roared at her feet.

The flames licked the logs and cracked loudly.

Her small hands curled tightly on her lap,

they desperately needed some blood,

so white they were.

The grandfather clock in the corner

ticked the seconds away,

each a month, each a lifetime apart,

past midnight, past Christmases and summers

and birthdays and lunches.

Drizzle tapped on the window,

the logs cracked loudly and the grandfather clock banged,

twice at every breath

but Anna waited stubbornly

for a knock on the door.

She could have shaken the fire,

could have watched the rain fall,

could have winded the clock..

But she was furiously waiting for a knock on the door.

head jerked to the left...was that a tap or a knock?

Her chair creaked, her skirts swished,

her small creamy hand curled around the brass, round knob.

She let out some air,

and invited it in.