
Icy cold wind walks.
Blinding sunshine ironic,
Burning horizons,
Promises of warmth
Unfulfilled in morning’s cry
Of grey storm cloud’s tears,
And then nothing left
Of fires or dreams curling,
Blanketing round us.
Icy cold wind walks.
Blinding sunshine ironic,
Burning horizons,
Promises of warmth
Unfulfilled in morning’s cry
Of grey storm cloud’s tears,
And then nothing left
Of fires or dreams curling,
Blanketing round us.
As winter whispers
The longing starts
For warmer days
Of a warming spring
Leaking slowly
Into a sweltering summer.
As winter whispers
In pretense of knowing
Warmth and cheer
Of holidays it cannot contain
In its freezing coldness,
We are left untouched
For far too long—
Our souls grow grey
In these winter days
And leap at the hope
Contained in striking colors
Of Winter’s sunsets–
Only to have hope
Bashed, broken, bleeding
Against the frozen Winter
Ground. As Winter whispers,
Chuckling at our fragile humanity.
Emptied vault opens,
casts leavings of shriveled seeds
beyond redemption.
Between the edges
nothing could penetrate here,
wind, rain, tears—nothing.
Sound had no life here,
dying in small deaths of emptiness,
eternal silence.
A life damaged beyond
repair, encased by cold stone,
a life of shriveled seeds,
lived in a stone vault—
lightless, soundless
thirsting.
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2020/10/24/weekend-writing-prompt-180-vault/#comments
Ignoring the ripples doesn’t work,
Beautiful though they may be
In the early light of an autumn dawn.
The ripples return.
Their warmth long gone,
Drained of blood.
Injected with colors of autumn’s dawn,
They look full, alive with mysterious meaning.
But cold these ripples remain
In their return to me.
Time shifts,
Tilting beneath my feet.
I shutter and stare, a moment only—
I cannot weave these cold things
Into a useful thing, resembling you.
When you found the things you could,
A mist of breath showed in the rain,
Twin clouded rain shimmered colors
Of gray stone before you on a path you would go.
If only, if only, you should know the bones of us,
Move knotted stiff with the griefs you’ve piled upon your soul,
We’d glow of phosphorus and neon in velvet darkness.
Walking the dark, shadowed canyon of dreams
Wilted by disappointments and deflated sunshine
Waking to dimmest daylight at noon
Where you cannot bear to look
Upon your own reflection,
A sight of horror in your own eyes now
In that cracked crystal ball where you stand,
In your own self-consecrated field
Of plastic flowers bowing their majestic heads to you,
Your straw haired head is bowed,
Smiling at the ground.
As if I’d eaten some ancient grain
Meant for those of a long dead warrior hearted strain
I strengthen myself with tears.
Over the bare years
Only you knew innocence
Truth, ruin in seas–
Imagined decades
No time for flowers and aches
Realize in drifting
Down years– no disaster
Were you in the end,
We were just a moment.
summer hot, humid
kills desire of sweetness
flowers forgiveness
falls decaying death
forgiveness dead leaves lifeless
blacken a gift heart
winter freezing ice
a cold weapon forgiveness
to cut the giver
spring new life begins
forgiveness lifeless, no seed
to plant, grow—never
The bird of flame rises
From the ashes in my chest—
Ash of forgiveness
Never given.
So very willingly,
I placed my head into danger’s toothy mouth
When I climbed the Pilgrim’s stairs–
Until dizzy from the height,
And the steepness of the effort–
All done to look upon
A pure crystalline blue sky
Caressing a sapphire sea—
A fantasy of need.
Serrated edges of your secrets
Sliced open my chest long ago.
Yet, I carried those secrets
Across the borders of decades.
I guarded those secrets like gemstones.
I wore them as talismans,
Good luck charms, rubbing each
Like burnished bronze of ages old.
Why have I kept them so?
I do not know.
Begin with unpacking
the loss of years.
Perhaps, for once,
Win the battle with tears.
Start over clean, new.
Carry emptied, broken down boxes,
bundled and tied, sticky at the edges
with their old used tape, to the curb.
Balanced no longer on narrow ledges.
Breathe now, once again.
A dose of fetish. Good friends. An incomparable muse.
These are my inner thoughts, passions and inspirations.
An insight to a heart mind and soul.
An onion has many layers. So have I!
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