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WL Schuett Feb 2019
Abandoned in the night
and lost forever
in the gulches of a dream .

She cries for the words
that touch her being.
Her tears stain the shadows
and dampen the winds
for a thousand days .

She protects her heart
avoiding those
in need of comfort .
She is the tolling bell
hidden inside a storm .

One more time she
cracks the door of loneliness.
Seeking beauty stoked
inside a paper moon.

Flames flicker in the
foggy ruins of time .
She is lost in the waiting
and fooled by
sleight of hand .

Crying over a poem
from a strangers pen ,
in a Thatchers hut she weeps .

Her path is lined
with short shrubs
and colored bottles .
Her path is long
but rocky and curved .

Into the gulch besides
her path
She shovels the
abandoned remnants
of her dream .
WL Schuett Feb 2019
Saw the shadow of the arrow
Felt the kiss of the feather .
Saw the eye of the Sparrow
As the fog of memories lift .
Stolen sunlight ,
Hidden moonlight.
Felt the weight of melancholy
Arch through
The minkhole of faded dreams .

Saw the trees dance
Into the morning.
Swathed In heavenly light .
Saw their echo bounce
Off the future .
Felt the birds
remember the wind.
Earthen nerves ,
Silent Springs .
Felt the noose slide down
from the mantle .
Into the astrodust
On the floor .

Saw the bow pulled back
on the morning.
Felt morose as the arrow
flew by us all .
WL Schuett Nov 2018
Deep on the other side
of the loom .
The other side of
a dangerous smile.
Stands the one who
knows all my lurid secrets .
Barefoot in a homespun dress
one hand against the wall.

Water runs shallow
over the rocks
across the fields .
Crickets chirping in the
cool night air .
A thousand moments
swirl over us .
An ancient wind carries
our secrets.
Rolling waters ,
crickets in our ears
suddenly we were young
and in the mountains again.

Broken compromise
and forgiveness
to balance the passion
and the need .
Blood and roses ,
a sweet kiss from
the dragon .

Laughter is the lyric,
Love is the music
a watershed melody
that never gets old .

We are lost in the
recession of time .
As three quiet birds
try to throw shadows
on our love .
WL Schuett Oct 2018
Quiet light breaks the fields .
Played out a thousand
times untold .
Lost in the ceremony
of fire .

She stood naked in the hours
and wept with no tears .
Trying to make herself
invisible
beneath the thorns of the
rose .

Surreal in a moonless night .
Born to the world
in the light of a candle.
Surrounded by the quiet
verbs of kindness.

Her voice was without seasons
ringing bells not heard
in any church .
Waging war on emptiness,
darkness and
storms of despair.

She could make words
Sing or bleed ...
sometimes both .

She read my poetry like it
was her own private orchard
with fruit she couldn’t
wait to taste .

I knew there was a majestic
mountain
obscured by clouds of thunder.
Coastal tides shed their skins
and danced in the inland forest .
She seized onto the light
of her singularity
and finally brought
forth her tears .
For my lovely friend
to recognize her talent
as a poet a thousand times untold .
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