Lost

Picture credit:
http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=cold%20air&order=9&offset=48#/d2fhvbb

 

Lost. The joy...

...left a chill in that damp alleyway;

a flood of cold air through your soul.

 

The beauty of the night

picture credit: gavin dowd 

Wrapped in ice like frozen wishes,

dormant in the blinding  white,

‘round the limbs of waiting jounces,

spring is striving to ignite.

...yet grey the cloud and moist the air,

with sullen mood that broods despair,

‘joy the beauty of this night

ere starry skies your soul delight.

When the music died

picture credit: http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=tears&order=9&offset=216#/d2ly90

When the music died,

mist rose from the ground

like rolling waves of silence,

engulfing sight and sound

in its thick white shroud,

and tears of sorrow

clung to lashes

in silent reflection,

before surrendering

to a final echo.

Hide for another day

picture credit:  http://boostinspiration.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/03-stunning-photo-manipulations-from-deviantart.jpg

The mood turned to brown
in the hot midday sun
as the stifling air withered words,
struggling to make their way
from the cool depths
of the lakes of suppressed emotion.
 And the chirruping crickets
run riot with thoughts,
disassembling them as they form,
watch as they dissipate
in the turmoil,
lost, ere they ever began.
 In futile surrender
you shut your eyes,
let the hot wind blow silence through,
your world that is dim,
that slowly recedes
and you hide for another day.

The last dance of regret

Deep was the voice that rumbled

with the silver-gray sheet

that swathed the skies in an instant.

The words, an abrupt chill

that sunk into every essence within its reach.

Shoulders drooped with the tail of every creature

as the meaning absorbed into their soul,

and regrets danced their last dance

on empty, deserted stages,

unworthy of thought and awareness...

picture credit: http://browse.deviantart.com/?qh=&section=&q=empty+stage#/d14svnn

The edge of reason

picture credit: http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=reach&order=9&offset=72#/d2st3wk

    'twas the voice of evil spirits loudly rumbling in her head,
that decided fate the day when the clouds were tinged with red,
driving her to edge of reason far beyond accepted norm,
carelessly surrendering to the deeds that cause you harm. 

    And she lay down on the smould'ring bed of fire and it spread,
to the confines of the sacred heart where no one dares to tread,
seeing in her mind's eye tears turn to acid and deform
everything that she once cherished, yet she was beyond reform.

    So she sank into the dusk of the waters laced with lead,
on a path that's sure to take her to the lowest of seabed,
while the frantic pleas from lovers stead'ly faded in the storm,
left her soul in desp'rate need for a breath, just one, of calm.

   'twas the voices of the angels that pierced fin'ly through her head,
woke the need to live and banish from her soul the clouds of red,
driving her to push away from the edge towards the dawn,
yielding to the longed for arms, to their warmth, to which she's drawn.

untitled

To feel the intent of a nurturing glance,
to bask in the sunlit moon,
when water transforms to the nectar of chance,
and time builds a palace from ruins.

picture credit: http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=drop&order=9&offset=24#/dyf5jf

The Anchor

Is it the chaos in our head,

spinning like a vortex,

that keeps us doing that which we do,

repeating, duplicating, returning again and again

to the bleeding brook that runs

through the nightscapes of our mind?

... forever recreating

wounds best left forgotten,

revisiting the pain of our growing years,

fed by the need to comfort ourselves

with that which is familiar,

barring the way to the uncomfortable unknown,

to a page in a book still waiting to be written -

too fearful to be free,

too timid to try,

too afraid to lift the anchor that weighs...

picture credit: http://browse.deviantart.com/?q=photo&order=9&offset=48#/dsayx2