There’s something about you
that pulls me through
trudging through the winters gloom
there is a spark in your eyes
I can see myself through
you might be the light
at the end of the tunnel
if I was small enough
I’d hide in your covert feathers
and we could fly
to another muse
The world was smothered in white
the bare limbs of trees
trying to find the light in the sky
turning its roots
contorting themselves to time
life trapped in an hourglass
silence with that deafening chime
with no ladders up to heaven to climb
My breath trailed out before me as light as a feather
and a breeze blew through the enchanted forest
and spread the richness of autumns gold
like a clue enlightening desire paths
scented with that nutty earth aroma of a seasons transition
in which storms are brewed
just a stone’s throw away
from empty streets
and bounties becoming few
A teacup awaiting winters brew
I cry my land it’s tears
touching the winter
the wheels of time having churned
our vigil to summer
burning in candlelight
Learning what living looks like
in winter time
when skeletal remains of leaves
dissolve into carpets of dirt
I didn’t manage to use all the words in the list.
The night was different shades of black with gold specs, and the moon was a silver goddess shining brightly onto the world when she left.
A fleeting love that died like the wilted roses of winter as snow blinkered all our colours in white.
The train came at 21:05, and that was that gone in a haze she was just a face staring back from a window with a tear writing sadness upon her cheek.
The snow of winter turned grey as it was muddied by the boots of people trudging their days away mindlessly while I noticed every little wish unfulfilled in the stars.
A plane shot through my vision, pointing as if it was going to the moon, a trail behind it that is poison in its own polluting way.
It occurred to me then that life itself was pollution, everything was spinning on this globe, and everything was interacting within it.
Yet we pulled ourselves outside of it with our distractions and words, but I know now it was only ever an illusion.
That we are the earth, as are the birds and the other beasts that share this world.
And the train shook on the tracks, our goodbyes said only in our staring eyes as the train rushed past, and I knew I’d never see her again.
yet she was still the earth as was I, even after the train tracks drew a divide between us
I didn’t yet know if that was comforting or all the more painful.
These goodbyes always feel like the end of the world, still, it turns, but somehow it doesn’t always help to remember that fact.
Our emotions never could stick to the notion of calendars and diary planners sometimes, an anniversary feels too quick in the heart and loss too long in the dark.
Neither of us waved, our eyes blinking through the sadness that words couldn’t express.
My eyes took a picture of her face in the window while it never left; it fades as the days go by, her absence getting more noticeable with every feature lost in the memory.
It seems to me absence is a lot like a cockroach
nothing can kill these beasts
Caterpillars making pockets of hope
A revolution sowed
as if death and us is forgiven
For the terror we’ve torn
through these landscapes
A winters dream
The trees bared all and the woods collected the debris of life. Feet left their prints and the Robins remained the last birds singing. Clouds cast shadows so as to smother the light of day. A murder of Crows cawed their raucous cries and the world looked and felt like the end. But it was worse. Days and nights merged without an end in sight.