You have stolen all of my seasons,
My summers, my autumns, my winters, my springs;
An unshakeable force born not out of nature’s palms,
But from the wild fires of the heart.
Betraying all sense and reason
Like a magician who deceives his audience with only sleight of hand.
Melting the ice from the bastille of winter’s long lived days,
Shining love’s light to spring like a painter’s canvass
Renewed by the illuminated birth of a new sun.
I am unravelled and undone at the seams
By the the majesty and glory of you.
I am in awe.
How is it that one can be both free and yet bound to another?
Love is now my only season and you its architect,
Who orbits grand spirals of my imagination
By manifesting the alchemy of my dreams without sleeping.
Let us steal the night away.
via Daily Prompt: Confess
There is a woman who stares out of windows.
Her frame frail, her hands withered,
She slowly traces the lines
Reflected in the distant misty meadow;
Determined to sketch out phantom figures
And etch them onto the glass.
Her lips mimic the shapes drawn by her fingers.
Words that are mimed but no voice to confess them.
Everyday she repeats this ritual
And everyday her confession sounds no syllable.
There was a woman who stared out of windows.
Her chair sits vacant – waiting patiently for the next individual.
Living flowers I do keep presented
On thy simple stage; an alter
For mine own eyes to praise and weep
And would in thy soul be thus contented
I offer up tall arching stems; heaven’s portal
Flowering cherry blossoms in bloom on earth o’er
My mind that do shy away sweetly
Intertwined are their branching hands; cemented
Scene in nature reflected inward I capture.
Long roads I have travelled
To seek the four silent standing brothers.
Forsaking the comforts of home
In exchange for untold arduous adventures;
To peak beneath the veil
Of what may be concealed
And harness what may be revealed.
And what is there to uncover?
This question still remains
Blank on the page
Twigs break under
The weight of my heavy burden
And journey’s end
Is not without hidden dangers.
For no mortal weapons I possess
Can protect against
The will of nature.
Her white cloak drapes
This seemingly sleeping landscape
Like fine silk that moulds a curving body shape.
An inviting dream,
But for the biting breath of winter’s day,
Then hope springs as the clouds part
Shining sun’s kiss to beam
And lighten the way.
It was on calm black waters I set my ship to sail,
Slicing through the midnight abyss
Where no compass could direct my course
And where true north could not be cyphered
From the celestial goodnight kiss.
All attention converged to the fractured opening
Like a beast whose slumber is disturbed from within his dwelling;
His eye-lids reveal an unknown darkness in his cunning,
Showing the universe is torn
And in its wake a new storm is forming.
Magic is a shamanistic rain dance
Heard on desert island disc albums
Found in our summer seasons.
Higher consciousness is vanity disguised
When proclaimed by celebrity gurus
Seeking engagement from public eyes.
Perfection is the ant-eye-climax
Seen in tv advertisements
For the female pursuit
To be younger than their waistlines.
As I sleep I breathe in a dreamer’s dream
To seek rapture in uncharted pathways
And make pilgrimage to the forest of Arden
Against the wits of winter’s end
And find solace in the golden world.
Here, I am guided like the ink written on a blank page
Driven by the hand that holds the pen.
Eyes open at the first dawn of today
And grey mist holds the sun’s rays to ransom;
Suspending breath across the world’s stage.