The wings of dusk

Continuous and swarthy patterns
that landscape at my eyes
moving over tethered ropes
that boldly flutter among the ties,
wings that flap against the stone
reaching the never do heights
heavy breath and racing hearts
feeling the cold and bitter bites,
the gnawing of another day
breaking through the meaty brawn
tensing all that one creates
night crushing temples pawn,
muddy spew in un-gripped hands
no gasping left within bird
a shadows ridge at dawnings gate
and the painful admission of word.

My heart song

Hey, Lover,
can you hear me while you sleep?
So far away in distant places
hearing the songs of time and space
you fly among the many skies
that are shewn in many colors
filled with shapes of clouds
that will never seek our waking eyes.

Sweetheart,
can you hear me?
Among the jubilation of imagination
that carries you over mountains
lulls you into the depths of the sea
and covers you in the warmth of many suns
such feelings that will never touch our living days.

My darling,
If you listen, you will hear me.
Through the rich forests that layer the Planet
and the trickling water of sweet quartets
that lure the breath to sing
touching upon the faces you radiate
bringing the smiles of a million moons
that will fade upon your wakening
revealing the chorus of my Love beside you.

Breaking in

Sometimes I hear beautiful things
and they layer over my soul
drifting past my memories
through the thick layers
of a fluid subconsciousness,
other times I see horrific images
and they blend with the shadows
melting into my imagination
over the depth of oceans,
there are places I have felt too
all around my fervent scope
exploring every facet
as a fish might swim through space
or a rabbit on the moon,
but I know what these are
they are figments of creation
a point in time where everything wishes to be
but tumbles back into the splitting seconds of the day,
where sometimes they don’t stop again…

Tapping out the blind

I stammered across the open flay
and gathered my thoughts awry
standing by the wayward winds
the aerie songs in pitch to fly,
and upon the slated restful tear
arose the open heartfelt clear
of the infinite laying road of sheer
that walks one on to the face of fear,
and here to say I speak no cheer
upon festivities of yesteryear,
for alone we die to the living sneer;
where the coil it sheds to the hearkening.

March May June and I

Lost within the phantasmal mime
slowly turtle whittle rhyme
to make the Mary meet,
twas here she says the sands were time
but the shoes were nigh the fit,
and every crooked shell she finds
is buried deep the darkest minds
where rabbit suffers curdling whine
and forever somewhere is set divine
along the favored pith,
but June May follow along the weigh
on coming with every flora
dash the spring and terse the noose
that chides the way for summers plethora,
making gusts for turtles chimes
as he fiddles his home from out sublime
and dons his napping cat mistime
to wake forlorn for dinner.

Mass occur

Depth the cry of tender feel
along the stranded stray
where feet they break on tattered strains
over creaking along the day,
eyes a crash among the waves
where rocks all point and scathe
and here they come the scattered throng
from the deaths that long the way,
yet harmony plays her sweet discord
in the rhythms of falling short
where the memories are all knotted up
taking reap of times cohort.