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AD Letwixt Oct 2018
damp grass from the hillside
is cold on my feet as I walk
hands in my pockets and head looking down
legs leading slowly downhill
towards the sea.

There's something about going for a walk
that makes it easier to think
even if you completely ignore your surroundings
or don't go very far.

The sand surprises me
the soft white powder that shifts between my toes
and my feet slip a little with every step.

For the first time in a while, I look up
the sea is darker than usual, it's turbulent as well,
but I stop for a moment on the edge of the water.

Imagine If I fell in
I'd probably turn into driftwood and then just float off
until the water pushed me up onto some deserted beach
and then pulled me back in
and then pushed me up again
eternally caught in the space between sea and shore

the space between here and there
between is and isn't
between impulse and inactivity

I'm already there.
AD Letwixt Oct 2018
Melodious moonlight thy clear liquid spreads
painting all in lavender hue
and moistening lips wait for the kiss of your words, muse
You sing through her parted lips your cryptic hymns and poetry,
words wound together in strange nightly meter
that twist together and shift like tree limbs tangled
and petals cast down the stream

To bathe in the rippling water
and wait for clarity to wash away the rough edges of the mind
let the stones become smooth
and mind like bowstrings, taughtened.

But the crowds protest in collective indignation
all members chained together by common trepidation
lest altars crack under the weight of strange words
and the diety's light grows dim
they sharpen what was dull and loose arrows in laughing mirth
into bodies' crooked minds uninhibited and feet unshackled

The ones in the crowd yell with groans and laughter
but they groan also with the pain of what is constant death and birth... they are resigned to their tradition's lies
and perish ten thousand times.
Nascent generations yell out in incredulity until voices become hoarse and skin turns gray, resign themselves to murmur their insolence in dreams as they whither slowly away.

But the one who, in nighttime, sings
and bestowed by muse's mind, from human lips part
words and strange poems spoken blaspheme
will live but once and one day rest
by the shifting branches and on grass by trickling stream
and not by chain's clanking arrest.
AD Letwixt Oct 2018
Sands and seashells as white as moonlit night
And water tugging slightly at the small boats
Trembling in the wake

“Far across the silvery sea”
Those little waves whisper to me
“From ocean dark and brooding blue, cross horizons bleeding red
is a land where the mists travel languidly through
and dangerous things betwixt the paths you tread.”

“There is a city that some say glows in the night
Whose towers ***** to glorious height
Domes and great structures stand below
Upon white stones, blue moonlight does glow.”

“If you swim out during the brooding storm
And torrential city make, with towers of black swirling wake
The sea will take and change your form
You will enter the depth and the depth will enter you
And sea imbued, you emerge anew.”

“On the second day, and the crest of red rising light
When Phoenix fly against the night
You will be ****** from water by the fiery wing
And to a new land take you as Phoenix songs it softly sings.”

“There you will encounter the dangers and things of strange delight
And the white walls of Elyse, whose light is cast upon the height.”
AD Letwixt Oct 2018
Sometimes when I speak
The words don't come out,
And the sounds just sort of echo in my head for a moment
Before I forget them.

Then I try and sleep, because being awake is no longer interesting.
Constant anxiety tends to make one numb.

Later on
All the things I forgot to feel
Rush in like a flood
And I go to sleep
Because the water filled my lungs.

If I wake up
And there's fog outside my window
It's no surprise at all.
Because it's hard to make out anything in fog
And if I speak
I don't know who's going to hear it.
AD Letwixt Oct 2018
Ere those despairing months have come to pass
And befall my pensive condition
With tempests that hide a southerly sun in undulating expression

I examine my place here
Mind swaying like blades of grass

With neither voice nor sound of breath
I consider the evanescent present.
AD Letwixt Oct 2018
Books on the shelf
The pages yellow with age
marking time's passage
AD Letwixt Oct 2018
Part 1: (The traveler speaking)

"I follow the winding, the way beyond the farthest places
between trees knotted menacing with darkened faces
under mossy roots that twist and trip with a mischievous cackle
over heights and falls that beckon death's clanking shackle
and if you fall in, lose your precious breath
to tree limbs tangled scratching at vulnerable flesh.

A green roof above and green floor below
but my eyes look ahead, to where the silver meadows did grow
Remorse remembers all that passed before the eye
burnt of fire forgotten and ash was strewn across the sky
and now only memory does remain
of silver meadows and the golden rain.

This land is dampened with the morning dew
that daren't melt but for the light of moon
where mossy things are stowed in sunken places
and beautiful wonders lay behind rock faces,
I know the way, but do not lightly follow
As sunset brings forth demons beyond tomorrow.

I wish to find her: the lady silk
Her hands weaving threads of fates who twist and separate
her threads she brought from those older places past
Where nascent fauns with youthful voices fastly gleam and chatter
and deftly danced to delights in the silver meadows
When all was false and truth was shaded
all liars happily in reflections reflected
pale faces feinted in humorous deception
and all charismatic affectations were familiar expression.
singing songs of passing pleasures in strange dialect
All was serene was silver mirrors reflecting
save the flow of golden liquid cool and still
which seeped from sky to hill and then chalice filled.

I walk to see the lady
who has one eye black and one eye white
and carries a silver knife which- in moonlight flashes bright.
I will wearily watch for it's flashing tomorrow night,
for she doesn't know it, but I was also born of moon's pale light."

Part 2: (The lady singing)

"The meadow shifted softly that fateful night
in breezes blowing warmly and songs of ephemeral delight
melodies swell and shift like the swirling blades of grass
Grass not green but silver shining, all moonlight reflecting

Gods with silver hair and silver eyes danced in shifty iridescence
Voices sang clear and wandered wistfully through misty hills and hollowed places
Oh they delicately weave the lines of notes around my ear
under over between and in, I wish I could hear those notes again
but alas their time is passed-- the daytime took the nightly hymn

There are few who remember things as I have done, but waning pasts are of worth to none.
Oh the night was never meant to end
and it is left the earth but for what I have kept for mine, things broken never truly mend.
These silver threads for weaving time and fate together again
a mournful burden, but I cannot abandon them
for the tapestry of time is my from the gods of ancient past
As long as my fingers can touch the strings, my mind will see
what I have preserved in memory

the tapestry, though, will live before I die
All fates will cease to meet as edges cut
and gods will from sky return
to chase away sun in blue and silver flashing eye

And so I hurry to finish this task over which I mourn
so in silver laurel, I will be adorned."
I plan to add either one or two more parts later on
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