Someone from my past was on my mind tonight, while i layed in bed.

Past twilight, which I will call midnight, I seen a figure, like a dream dip before you fade to sleep, followed by the obvious and unexplainable;

The image of two visible, yet dim eyes appearing on the inside of my closed eyelids, and vanishing.

I've been wide awake ever since.
Apparitions aren't scary.

Although, this is the first confirmed case of one choosing to

Look at me..

Where is the inspiration?
How do I channel it?
Do I wait in silence
for hours and hours
or does it only take a bit?

Why can't I write?
Even though I want to.
I got the ideas in my head,
but they never seem to come through.

Is it lack of confidence?
Maybe I'm no good?
Maybe I am, maybe I'm good,
but then I think
"What is the likelihood?"

the edges are stained blue

and no matter
that spring is holding out its hand
in a promise,

spring becomes summer,
summer fall,
and winter again,

and the hours and the hours and the hours

and cities rise
and forests fall

once, gods
are now falling into disrepair,
temples on the verge
of imploding.

She was there alone that night
She was thinking, she felt fright
She was alone and there was light
She didn't go, she didn't mind

He was a perfect idea of many
He would have found her
And understood
She was alone and the night rather rainy
She stayed at home here
She embraced her fear

Fears and Ideas
Mixed up together
Just as a bright foggy snowy weather
Tumbling around
Feeling dizzy and drunk
Thoughts are confusing
Why do they matter?

She sat there and sat
The candle burned red
The light throwing scary pictures around her
She tried to believe, she hoped
But today she didn't received the relief
Anyway

Love forms in the spring
Just as flowers and plants bloom
The smell of spring, just as strong
The bushes and trees sway just as we do
Dancing under the moonlight
Like its meant to be
The cold air blowing against my back
Your warm voice tickling my ear
Telling me just how much you care
We dance and dance until magic hour arrives
Those short fifteen minutes of beautiful light
Just as the sun is rising, we head back home
Lying down with each other and sleeping the day away
Until magic hour comes tonight
And then, we shall dance again.

A Novitiate in the World

     “…you will go forth from these walls,
     but will live like a monk in the world.”

     -Father Zossima to Alyosha in The Brothers Karamazov
      
Every vocation is a novitiate
And every labor a monastic prayer:
Matins and Lauds are sung over coffee,
Then Terce for the plough, the lathe, and the wheel

Sext is gratitude for the midday meal
And None is the hour for downing tools
Soft Vespers is the song of happy homes
‘Til Compline sends all good folk to their beds -

Final vows are taken at death; for now,
Every vocation is a novitiate