Bitter Coldness

That mad, indistinct laughter that passes through the cold, wild night. 

It lands suddenly.

An alien sound struggling to find a home.  

A purpose. 

The night swung and missed. 

Courage raptures progress. 

It sets the sky to fall. 

But fails to see the stars. 

to make a wish, 

or an impression. 

Yet, courage strikes like lighting 

like a bird of prey. 

Like an arrow.

Illusion domain.

Imagination

A cursed gift. 

smiles so widely  

blinds so uniquely

A darkness that fades to black. 

 

With a glace, I'm on my knees. 

With a word I'm binded. 

Imagination, 

knows not how it hurts. 

Let's grow up together.

Let us grow. 

Whilst the night is still young. 

Still and static... 

Energies, immaturities. 

Like laughs in the summer wind.

We carry ourselves. 

Covered in our distractions. 

Surrounded by joy. 

In the day it was clouds that kept us entertained. 

Detained. 

Restrained with an avid hook.

Pictures bigger than words.

Memories bring comfort.  

To remember is to live again. 

Now to forget

Tigerlily

She is a wild cat. 

She who has earned her stripes. 

Who beneath the starry night soundly stalks the open road. 

The road slips away as she sleeps beneath the comforting sky.  

Blackened, and blanketed by stars she dreams of distance. 

In her dreams she wanders.

How far will she go? 

How far? 

I wonder.

She, who only sleeps to dream.

 

Oh vera.

Shit. 

Another eerie slow moving year

Tonally complacent. 

Verbally aprehensible. 

Another "kick the can" summer 

Another "I'll do what I can" spring.

 Queasy, anxious, Ill gotten misgivings. 

The rich reaper mows a hung jury. 

Simply wild.   

Burning

Too hot to touch. 

She was (is) the spark. 

The blinding flash. 

The binding flesh. 

An equinox of solar pleasure. 

In another life 

The fire bloomed from her head as summer winds blew her hair like the wide stretched, arching wings of a pheonix. 

She was (is) the kind of fire you want to touch. 

Banked (overflow)

Stones sit at the banks of rivers deep. 

The still waters wavering, hissing, proclaiming an unending flood.   

   

    The stone: an agent of apollo. Sits in structured confidence as the tide submerges him. The banks overflow and still waters ran deeper. 

  

Chaos is his religion. 

A traitor heathen.

Dionysus drowns his converts