Sunday, November 6, 2011

Fell a Season to Now

This image straying from us into the glass, faint with your reflection captured between the panes an placed like a portrait fading to the haunted autumn scene past the glaze, embedded in the fall beyond it. Glad bursts of change and gold’s bold with comfort, reds warming mood, browns mellow sentiment. Then on to the sorrowful yellow depth of us now as they mix our souls to blend with the splashes of seasoned emotions set against the colors in us. This fall is like any other. First the vibrant feelings of amber and crimson then pale shades of green give way to light pastel shifts from thoughts for each other in these moving moments that tend us through toward the willingness of fate. Shapes of edges are outlined with light flowing around them and scented with wonder then collected from visions of us through leaves hardened, becoming fragile to touch while they grow dying beyond what we acknowledge. Drafted before us in this season to now as when we had loved. That too, is delicate and waiting to fall to the landscape of our lives. Bringing us this hurt past the gaze of our hearts. Swift brisk tensions lead this blustery day, mimicking the breeze flowing over the felled remnants of time, as it moves undaunted brightly clad with changes that whisper to our eyes. The trees drop colors to litter the ground leaving their branches bare in places, in this season that has followed what was before it and will soon end, to be felt by what comes after it.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Mystical Apparition

Moon struck with luck a picture of perfection and the motions of my worn hearts abolition, entering into sight and floating flawless a beauty of the night. A mystical mythical outline shown with lunar rays falling a magical haze. Coming nearer and growing dearer. Through desire my eyes see to hear as I am caused in my waiting where dark shadows are overtaking.

Dense lit cloudiness falls and rolls moving to rise then drop into the night vanishing from sight as this apparition comes nearer, becoming clearer. Commanded in this spaces place where time is fixed upon this moments grace. I am held a witness to this ghosted drifting where I see better the being of my feeling strode up to this eves quaint, an image vague and outline faint a strolling figure, ever prettier.

Glazes of emeralds, her eyes are as shimmering reflections of sparkling light piercing the clouded shroud she wears. Calling in me to those deepening things caught and felt, that later get fought until again they are sought only to be guarded an kept stove. Silenced inward, mourned by sharing then neatly tucked away with caring. Radiant as she walks with glances to chances held in precious solitude.

Followed by the majestic moons glow as it floods her steps with luminescence pouring from the sky. Filling up the moment as she enters it like a "pool of moon bright contained in a pond of dark rising around her," flowing into the night and rolling with the thickly clouded air that gets colored a celestial luminous shade.

With heavens sparkly dance firefly's are courted from above by nights starry romance. Twinkles playful trysts, orchestrated in the fields of darkend mist. Lively spectacles appear then stop as if to hop into the sky catching my eye. Star light-firefly bright sing to me this wonderous night. Where sighted voices flit then flick a chorus from above to a tempo of the harmony of natures earthly lighted bliss. Ended now she glides yet softly here, a moment of time owning more than I can see. She exits my thoughts to enter as a memory. Leaving spirited as she appeared, still a mystery.

Thank You Lumara


Monday, May 30, 2011

Its Why

Its like a knob that won’t turn. Its a match that won’t
burn. Its the tune you can’t unlearn. Its the tear weld
and held that will not cry. Its the sad of our last goodbye.
Its the who of our why. Its this breath I am taking. Its this
poem I am making. Its this hurts aching.

It is about you I am speaking. Its the missing you part
we are now reading. Written here by my hearts pleading.
Told to it by my needing. Sorrow becomes our new
greeting, keeping us from meeting. Still dreams have
us achieving. Hope tricks me with believing. Your
memory’s lure deceiving. Me regretting leaving.

Days are longest when heights of thoughts fail to peak
and we fall around me. Turning to glances of romance,
my dreams perpetuate longed for beliefs. Stolen by me.
Now replaced with grief, aiding the sufferance of this
foolish thief, who seeks forgiveness and begs relief.

Half myself a part of pleasure, arrested in this gloomy
measure. The culprit of my displeasure. He writes this
burying my hearts treasure. Casting affections aside
like worn out collections. Sending togetherness off in
two different directions. Thus his lovelornness, keeping
me bereft. Loneliness undergoes corrections caused by
self inflictions from this shallow lovers depth.

Rounds of travels repeated, and like a race want only their
finish. They begin and end with the sounded gavels lay.
To my hearts dismay sentencing me everyday. Ordered
to wander aimlessly and feel then need. There to remain
empty aloof an morose. Silhouetted as if a ghost.
Cast as a lonely soul that’s unable to be made whole.

Maddened passions I hide. This episode laid aside.
Turning to flee, I fall over the edge of reason tumbling
down into me. Inward a storm of clouded desire builds
around the emptiness. From the sorrowed joy of solitude,
I reach the point leading to the sole answer for this romancer:
To begin again. Stopping the nightmare of loves, perpetual

The prelude to this servitude in attitude lessens with
the lasting loss of you. Made innocent by our doing.
Made young when new. Made wrong when through.
Captured as a melody that’s played as a hurt. The beats
to each measure pulse in me as I place this here to us.

Righting our past trials. Its unlike an end, but more a path
that’s ahead of me, and on it I can see these words. As I
go they are left behind to soothe other fallen travelers, by
punishing the meek and trying the weak and giving voice
to those too ill with, “its” innocence of conscience to speak.