Farewell to a thousand things

Window Reflection by HunterChanel

Life is short. Grasp what you can get.
A moment passed is past, like sand through your fingers.
For every missed chance, a fleeting moment, regret lingers.

Memories of what we had stay with us,
Taunting with might-have-beens, alternate futures,
What doctors can’t fix with a million sutures.

Forever chasing moonbeams
And all the little things you are.
Farewell to a thousand things.

Drifting through life on an endless conveyor,
Nameless people in distant places, now lost.
Time spent naming friendly faces, at what cost.

Forever dreaming visions
Of all the little things you are.
Farewell to a thousand things.

Time unending, now unbending,
Facing east, ever forward.
Can’t look back.

Forever losing details
Of all the little things you were.
Farewell to those thousand things.

Time unending, now unbending,
Facing east, ever forward.
Don’t look back.

Time passed

talk to me by Julia Skobeleva

Clouds pregnant with rain,
An omen for the new day.
Shadows of memory
On the cusp of lost love.

Love will end today
As it began, a shower
In spring then, now fall.

We fall, like those million droplets,
From great height to a bottomless chasm
Two as one become two again.

Again, the sun will shine
like summer, warm on my skin
in a new dawn forever
when the clouds part.

We grew apart. (Is that growth?)

Until that day, I’ll remember
The wind coursing through my soaked hair,
The hair he touched, he kissed,

When we loved.

A Black Photograph

Imagelessness

I’m dreaming again,
an imageless dream,
a black photograph.

A stir in the darkness
pleases this moonchild,
this waterbaby.

My night is clear and light,
as bright to me as day,
calling to me.

Darkness toys with my spirit,
a sensual game,
my distraction.

My dream, being taken,
loved by the night,
my day, my moon.

I swim in the pool of life,
dreams obsessed with lust,
my desire.

Darkness yearns to include me,
to please me, to love me,
to make three.

Sleep calls me,
come out to play,
so I must go.

My nightdress is lonely
on its hook tonight.
I’m in the mood.

Don’t explain

IMG_0981

Don’t explain, I don’t want to know.
close the door when you go.

It was your transgression that killed love
I wasn’t perfect, but you weren’t close.

Don’t explain, I don’t want to hear.
She was my friend, wasn’t that clear?

Our trust is a torn curtain, gone,
A broken thread can’t be rewoven.

Don’t explain, I don’t want you here.
I can’t stand having you near

You hardly knew her, or so you said,
Until I found her in our bed.

Don’t explain, I don’t want to know.
close the door when you go.

Mine removed

Image

I knew he would come,
our place since the beginning of time,
our time.

This is our watery garden,
our Eden without that damned tree,
pure and untouched.

He knows not why he is drawn,
pure as the driven snow,
in his dream.

When he last visited,
it was my dream,
his beautiful flesh,
my paradigm.

My spirit sat on this log,
here since ancient times,
but he couldn’t see me then,
not like now.

He can’t help noticing a woman,
naked,
the most beautiful he has ever seen,
as we were created for each other.

Forever I wait for him in the mountain tarn,
fed by a waterfall, borne of a force,
an underground river
bursting from a cliff face.

This lake is our love,
still and pure,
with its source from a higher power.

I will always love him because
I remember.
Everything.

He forgets until he sees me,
wonders at his newfound love,
One that he understands not.

Natural, yet he is Earthbound.
I will teach him again,
but when he awakens,
he will marvel at his dream.

He’s had one like it before,
I know because I know his thoughts.
They are mine, removed.

Penelope (Excerpt from The Cult of Hahn)

[1] An innocent sprang from the southern forest; It was said that a dry sprig would bloom in her hands.“Who is this that commands nature?” Cyrus asked his servant. “She is Penelope, daughter of the spring,” Caiis replied. “Bring her to me, as I wish to behold her splendor.”

[2] It came to pass that Caiis presented her before the King.“Where did this ugly child spring from?” he asked, finding a girl with mottled black hair,an eerie green sheen and skin dry like the soil. “Nobody knows,” Caiis replied. “How could such a child be the daughter of Spring?” Cyrus asked. “She is an evil imposter. Cast her back into the forest.”

[3] The King’s guard whipped and discarded her in the ancient Forest of the Downs, where she wept bitterly. Caiis had promised her the reverence of the King and marriage although she was not yet of age.

[4] As Hahn walked the forest perverting the hearts of man, he spied the girl crying a river of tears. “Who are you girl, and what has hurt you?”

[5] “I am Penelope, daughter of the Spring,” she replied, “and I was cast out into the forest by Cyrus in spite of his promise of marriage and riches.”

[6] Hahn laughed and raped her. “You shall be mine instead, and I will grant you dominion over plants and animals. Where you once created life, you can now quench it, just the same. Any who touches you may wither and die, according to your whim. So it shall be.”

[7] Penelope spent seven summers in Hahn’s lair while the land parched. In that time, she grew strong and beautiful. She took it to her heart that on her sixteenth birthday, she would seek out Caiis and seduce him. In his bed, he withered and returned to dust. His soul watered the Earth bringing forth a new spring, as what is taken must be given back.

Judicus, vss. 1-7, The Book of Cyrus

Unwanted

It was bound to happen. I’ve been so out of touch lately that I was bounced out of one of my forums. Yes, they were getting rid of some dead wood, and maybe I’m one of those. I wasn’t participating and hadn’t logged in for weeks, well, months. When I heard they were having a cull, I rushed over to post my latest minimalist poem, but I couldn’t log in – something about “too many cookies, or the site was too busy” – something like that. Today, it was a different message. I no longer have an account.

Ah, well. I shouldn’t complain. I thought about shooting off an email to one of the admins, but … well … maybe it is time.

I’m dead wood,
a tree falling in a deserted forest
unheard.

Did I make a sound?
Perhaps the faeries noticed me.
Can’t be bothered to get up.