Should twilight paint your silhouette in shades of amber and rose Recollections of past memories in black repose As I plunge, the cold winds murmuring in despair Advertisements
The tick, tick, ticking clock resounds off the walls of the tiny room, reminding her each second she is alone. It’s always the same, she awakens, moves to the window and sits. Waiting.
Bed of roses Bed of thorns Thorns of life Thorns of sin Sin is the cause Sin is the lust
Saudade lurks in shadows dancing caressing this barren heart with icy fingers searing hot tears scalding cold cheeks and I am alone in this storm of grief
“Sadness flies away on the wings of time.”– Jean de La Fontaine Sing to me while the fiddle weeps heartrending
And in the middle watch hours, Loneliness cries out your name as I reach for the cold pillow where your head once lay.
“Just beyond the bruised lips of consciousness.” from Birds Again ~ Jim Harrison The stars once bright in eyes now faded and gray viewing the world through tangled trees a purple haze of permanent contusions, amid barren thoughts of rotting leaves…
Sadness suits you, telling your story by the candle’s quivering light drinking the fruit of the vine a cloak of panacea for the soul.
A clear, blue sky early morning but as we were on our way we murdered a mourning dove today. Two flew into the air, one swerved, we missed but the other slammed into our window. A vision of feathers flying askew as an aqueous…
The dark end of the empty street is where her soul longs to reside cloaking her imperfections hiding in the sombre night.
This then is my truest of truths: I miss you in my waking hours when night is gone and morning comes for then there are no magical dreams to which I may once more succumb.