It's finally spring my love.
The false promise of renewal,
hope and dreams
that survived the stark of winter war.
And once again like a zillion times before,
my mind lingers on you - my bedraggled knight.
Still reminiscing the insincere
but oh so seductive cooing
of your words whispered in desperate passion.
But every time the timbre
of that poetic song dig into
the marrow of my withering bones,
the ruthless but absolutely honest voice of it all
- my taunting, yet ever loyal sidekick - distrust
kicks back and tell me
in the clearest chime of unwedding bells,
that it was never real.
No love for real,
how hard I wanted to believe.
my heart's quest always.
Pounded down by the utmost power of knowing.
Taking down shimmering gates of roses
and mashing them all into
a weeping horrified pile of compost.
Where no new flowers will ever grow.
Fodder for black snails and spiders
to feast upon, in eager anticipation
to reach deep down, to devour
the terrified, bleeding heart
that’s buried in its rubble.
And the iron armor
cladding my spiritual self
builds stronger every day.
Polished and unbuckled.
Continuously fortifying or imprisoning me.
I move in the world effortlessly,
not one soul seeing
the tons of heavy metal
that weighs down my skinless flesh.
who do not know
that he still hold my fortress - my heart.
And with just one wink of the white flag
would take it all down in a rumble of tears.
yet another ode to broken dreams...
through shrubs and trees
here and there.
make for a cool secret home,
Wild ferns in clumps
has been known to roam.
An ocean of giant trees
as far as the naked eye can see,
This is my piece of the forest,
This is where my heart is--this is home
to own a piece of Australian bushland
has finally come to be,
I am forever grateful and ever so thankful
that God has given this grand blessing
to us - to me.
By Lady R.F©2017
My soul is beyond content today.
I thank dear God in heaven
For his blessings.
All praise to God!
From a straight back wooden chair, I see
a cyan-blue ceramic bowl filled with
tangerines next to a desktop radio
tuned to NPR &
out the kitchen bay window
birds bicker over seeds
overflowing a feeder,
& a raccoon scours
the earth below --
I keep in mind the fact
all of these things will
be absent from my
It doesn't matter
how many infatuated knights
I've brought to my table,
The hollow whisper of you
still echoes in my mind.
And the cold comfort
of sleeping with substitutes
only leaves the heart bereft.
Our flower bed tumbled
with naked leaves entwined
and breathless kisses,
was never meant to turn
into a ****** killing field.
And yet it did.
There's a fear in me I can't deny.
That the memory of us
madly tearing each others hearts out,
while ripping each others clothes off
will eventually start to dissolve
like an unholy ghost in the wind.
Denial and terror at the same time.
Because what would become of me,
if my fractured soul would let
the hollow whisper to return?
My anger is showing.
The capitol is full
Of treason and misogyny.
Pressure is building.
Boiling hot lava
And I'm just over here
Making lard and yarn.
Not necessarily in that order.
I guess it is a good thing
That i wasn't made
winged and fire-breathing.
Just trying really hard
Not to destroy
In my path.
Lace my bones with threads
that will not break.
Inhale the breath of faith
between my lips.
Hold eternity with feathers
never to restrain.
I’m still mourning the dying sun,
terrified he’ll never rise again.
And even when the blue death
of twilight takes my hand.
I still turn around
to catch a glimpse of the light
Hate being in love with you
My daydream drift
Takes me eye to eye
And hand in hand
On a sunny morning
Step by step
And side by side
There's a tide close by
Responding to gravity
And gravity of sorts
Draws our souls
By Phil Roberts
The box remained shut.
His fingers probe but with invisible eyes.
Finding the clasp that had forgotten the last time.
With the lid pried open,
the dancer would soon arise.
As expected, she rose...
Accompanied by a tune, truly a haunting sound.
She slid and pirouetted.
She fulfilled the promise to which she was bound.
Her routine was well rehearsed.
She embodied the music, as it carried her.
It mattered not if it was for a single audience.
She cared not if there was no other.
She performed like she might never again,
she inhaled the moment like it was her last.
She sung the song silent like she always would,
she embraced her dance like sail unto mast.
Then the melody slowed,
as the tension in the spring
played itself unwound.
This day for her, had drawn to a close...
But renewed hope for a new one is found.
He hesitated before resting the lid upon its case.
He caressed his dancer as his eyes start to smart.
His ears would yearn for the song in his head...
He would surely miss the dancer in his heart.
But he knows
when days grow dark
and filled with strife.
The music box lies ready...
And his dancer will again
come to life.
the mind finds
on a city of stones,
and the soul goes
mossy wet with
natures oblivious passage~
no judgement regulates
your half-life of impermanence,
and time rots like
the ****** leaves dying
a composted death song
Written by Sara Fielder © Nov 2016