forget it.Enjoy the madhouse, kids!
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religioni. One real person, lost, bended knee on stone reprised in the coming night scented black by waxy smoke. Blind eyes following, darting, fluttering beneath a swirl, a kaleidoscope of glass and gold.religion
ii. It's not for you in laughter, not for each day that thanks
and grace pass your keen eyes and
gracious lips. You find it in eternity. The solitary second, a minute grated
over sickly strands, moments carved
from despair. Colder than those golden
shoulders that bear your burdens before returning them to you gleaming with ice. &n
by ~ostara
DriftI left the summer's kissDrift
too soon, ran headlong back
into the storm. Not ready
yet to talk again, to watch
you watching me.
What walked away is growing
cold, slowing in the desert sun. I left my construct
in the sand, washing out to
rest at sea. I kept the words that held me still, passively strong and vanishing. Unprepared to break
the word, the lock and face you bade me keep. What stayed behind was partly real, partly dream and wholly clear. Two transparent entities that once agreed, fractured in
the
by ~ostara
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discovering her countryi am made of roughness, rocky angles and wirehair; brambled, difficult to invade.discovering her country
how did i come to border your loamy land, flush with welcome and warmth?
some tectonic wisdom moved me unknowing to that dreamtime.
where we meet, a catholic miracle; the calloused land softens into fertility.
i follow the winding trail from aloof and lofty peaks into your langorous country.
here, the valleys offer respite for the weary, nestled inside the rounded rise.
there the savage tangle, the concealed
by ~errantmystic
PinnedPinned Beneath boxes, And the miscellaneous Haphazard collections of my life, I found some of your things. A few letters and cards, A book, an earring. Nothing, really. I paused at these Mementos. Remnants Of a life left behind, a bend In the road where a fork should Have been. Each one I could Recall. Not with anger Or contempt for You and the Things that were, Nor pleasure or love For the things that were not. Stained with time I placed them Back from where they came, Again with the histories Beneath boxes, &nbPinned
by ~ihaveastory
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