....

held in place by hands of copper,
faintly the whispers
tell of their darkened days,

left upon a ledge, stripped of a glory once remembered
           alone they sit,
hearts hanging from a cleft,

Many shallow nights
Ever seem to pass before me,
Abandoned begging these iron fingers to release me;

Sleek is the moss which surrounds this prison; my only home,
             yearnings of pain,
Rippling through this brick wall,

As emerald stones cover this chest,
Eternity clothes my nakedness
Like embers from stars which sit upon the heavens
This soul will shine brighter still,

Embraced
With beauty arrayed in splendor,

Like the center core;
          Slowly pulling to itself
A wondering mystery,

Gentle whispers tell of their darkened days,
          Still they remain
Held By hands of copper...

....

slow the wind dost blow,
a sadder light hath the morrow
brought for me;

colour of crimson fire breeches
over the expanse,
a boiling sphere;
the embodiment of wrath,

beauteous is her sky,
as the lips of the days light
kiss the darkened lips of night;

cold, forgotten is her cornerstone;
the reflection of her soul,
rested upon the heavens, it sits,

              Solar Flares

                      &

             Moon Beams

Oh, this forbidden love, I dare to breath in!

bristles tender bristles,
birth a soft touch beneath my fingers,
like that of a fine silk brush,

driven to a blissful land,
walking upon this field of grass so simple, it driveth the painter mad,

t's the break of dawn
which begets the fall of night,
this equilibrium stop; its twilight,

the moment draws ever nigh,
whence the heart of Colour shall rest within the Soul of her reflection
once more...

Do you see her
oh skies,

..where ever she may be,
these blessed fingers; hold fast,
swiftly they bring my curse;

once cherishing they're touch,
here they rip your heart from afar..

they run through your hair,
you've no need for a brush,
they divert your attention,

the moonlight used to
bring me news of
your brilliant reflections,

distance has loosened my grip

now im left to look above,
clouds....
darkness their covering;

i am all but left to play charades...

(...I wait for those darks clouds to one day turn white again...)



....

this is the day
it is today
the day that the Lord
has made
and it was called sunday.