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WL Schuett Oct 2021
Life is beautifully random .
Accidental chaos .
A draining rainbow
riddles and conversations.
Rain and smoldering seasons .
Every theme a lovers soul
questions, locks and
Minor Keyes .
The verses of the mind
The poetry of the soul .

Thus to be remembered.

Sailing ships of worship slip
away from the shores of religion.
Poetry of composition
brush strokes of fate .
Along suffering
vows of indifference.

Grace and prose are her beauty.
Thorns and thistle,
Rivers and stone .
Time lost in heartache
Spiderwebs across the lense
of dawns looking glass .
Carrying daisies with
walking sticks and rain .
Time that’s worn
flattened and ragged .
Ripped from the lining
of a golden meadows hem .

Beneath a quilt of sorrow
is a straw filled conscience.
Making my peace
behind a long thicket
of wild rose .
WL Schuett Jun 2021
heart of mercy

crying to be heard

in the dimming of

dusks  last true light

and the chilly winds

of emptiness

following a trail of tears

to an eerie blue Twilight



what we can't forget

is hidden in our hearts

buried somewhere behind

the midnight rains

between the lilting

moonlit mirages

and the lost forests

tragic last refrains



heart of mercy

tolling for freedom

back from the endless

assaults on morality

beating like rain

on the hollow log

of a reckless

and uncertain eternity



where a red flower

is damp with dew

where hatred is lost

in the cool of the morn

where the thick limbs

of the sycamore grew

where young dreams

are waiting to be born

where sundown trails

like a faithful dog

where the promise of magic

is waiting to be revealed

where sinners fail

and lovers never part

where lovers fight on

and prophets kneeled

where there is still

mercy in my heart
WL Schuett Jun 2021
Eternity between the moments
of the seconds .
God between the seconds
of eternity.

The flower screamed
in tendrils of smoke .
The tragedy of
the fundamental
redemption of sins
forgiveness.

Alone on a lost
ribbon of road .
Adrift in the cool
dog eared dawn .

Destiny has whispered
in my ear .
Forcing me to listen .
A friend lost ,
another a lie .

A hole in the meadow
filling with smoke .
Shadows laid claim
by destiny’s hours .
Two tracks thought true
One lost , one forsaken.

Terrified this is a test
from God .
Burden in the hours
from this age of faith .

Ditches of sorrow
trails of betrayal,
the smoke bleeds
the hours
and I confess .
WL Schuett Oct 2020
Goodnight my friend
I say my prayers
of the Earth ,
of the four winds
and the rain.

You have given all that
was inside your heart
and have moved on
to the quiet peace
of the shadows .
Where the winds have stopped
and the stillness is eternal.

I will think of you
when the cold ashes
of the night fires
are relit by the
dying embers
of a shooting star .

Only the mountains now
seem immortal.
It is true and right to die .
To navigate the high passes
over into the valley
of the shadows below .

My friend the hour
of the mirror will hold us .

I will look for you
whenever my heart feels
the tug of the
roadless horizon.
I will look for you
deep in the shadowlands
of mist .

I know
we will come together
when the winds blow
inside the shadow
of the shadows.

Goodnight my friend
travel that wind
into the mists
cold and damp .

And I will say
my prayers .
WL Schuett Jul 2020
No garden in this wind ,
no god in this garden.
The moon shot hope
from the meadow .

Walked in the forest
and yelled at the ferns
then apologized.

This feminine tree
seemed much older .
At the rivers head
it cried.

The vicious circle
closed then opened
and in it I flounder .

The final
sun on my shoulder
through the whispering leaves .

Heavily, the deep quiet
of the river bottom envelopes me .
How do rivers begin ,
I cried .
WL Schuett May 2020
Black bag hanging on
a yellow wall .
Temptations most foul .
A gathering of innocents.
The reckoning of the darkness
the mercy of the careless dawn .

Trying to let the pain escape
from a bent back Orchid
to a backlit heart shaped bush .
In the dominion of
the night grace ,
steep stairs and
wind walks .

Wander eyes silent
in the misty morn .

Night flies and thunder slips
as echoes cast the spells
of the god of
emptiness and despair.

From grains of salt
She emerges
trying to put the
pressure asunder.
Not an unkindly Angel
flowing from the
lonely light .
Who shall deliver me
my sweet surcease .
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