like the sun shone

for you

Tag: Reflections

Where do the moments go?

Where do the moments go
is there some kind of lost time?

Does the wind only settle
when it has nowhere else to travel
or does it cease its movement
because it has found what it’s looking for?

Where do the moments go?

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Strands of your smile

To touch
to be touched
to create
and to be created

how wonderful it is
to have that feeling
that delicateness
of your touch
of your creation
even if
even if you are
somewhere other than within
these words

Knowing you
is something other than I can create
for this solitude is my creation
is my touch of knowing you
are there
just there, just out of reach
until there are those moments when
we meet
and your touch
is finer than silk
is the strength and fragility of a cobweb
kissing my creation

I try to find you
but only find strands, strands of your smile
sifting through my mind
creating those moments of touch

and there you drift
upon evening’s breeze
and away
and I am the fool to let you

Nascent

To become
the light within

solitude
this seed grows

to become
the flower of this soul’s

silent
collapse of death

to become
the beginnings of raindrops

aware
of their flight, singing

to become
kisses of existence

unsated
with the orgasm of life’s humid mulch

to become
ancient, inherent, solitary

free
from the awakening of this heart’s tearful beat

Clouds without rain

Clouds without rain
evaporate
into ghosts

Memories
eroded and forgotten
barren souls of bleached bone

The immortality of time
carries with it
life

That, moment
when rain explodes
with pungent echoes of its death

That, fleeting moment
when
you remember your own

ghosts

Bells

of bell ringings
and soft spoken clouds

of fresh brewed tea
and otherwise silent kisses
of those soft spoken clouds
with their tint of pink
their blush of night’s calling

of visceral grip
this mighty claw opens within
a horrid, almost beautiful
elation of empathy towards the soar
of the final moments
of the end of days

The evening draws
and here I sip tea
listening
to the bells

Overwhelm of desire

We look upon such things
the way a candle looks upon the shadow

Wanting to illuminate it?
to take away the fear of it?
to become it?
to suppress it?

We look upon such things
with a desire, to overwhelm it
with ourselves

A fission of soul

Thou art destruction

To believe anything other than this
would be a sin
for within, the fire within, it lives
where it is kept in check by the crease
of thine own mirror’s aging visual sorrow
where it can only be seen peripherally
so it is quite invisible
until the moon shatters the disguise
if it can be called a disguise
more probable is its name; a fission of soul
where the rip
burns deep within
where that sharp loss of connection
to this visual
this
fire within
this destruction of mine own art
feels so much like feathers being torn
being ripped back from tip to stem
in ugly painful destructions of flight

… is it this?

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