The Gloaming Hour

Like a secret
that desperately wants to be kept,
darkness gently unfolds …
unhurried but measured.

The gloaming hour descends
blurring the edge of day.
An in between time,
harboring light while coaxing the darkness

Long blue shadows,
stretched by dying light,
drape the fields like a mourning mantle,
connecting this night to it’s beautiful day…

Willful to keep her memory alive.

Lillie Morris

Your battles rage, and I see what scars scratch your skin; I see the weight you bear, your heart is a battlefield with unending spar.

In essence,
Distance gives you the view of their landscape;

Illuminating,
We glimpse our true selves through the reflections of others, like mirrors to the soul.

Like their garden, occupied by substance—what withers; mirrors they appear themselves a guard and here I stand, in all my form, a 'lookout' may seemingly.

World is as vast,
My worries small.
Who am i?
Im just passing through; a tourist from a distance.

Black widow crawling up black vines,
expedition to your collarbones.
Crown of thorns pressed
against barbed wire
but neither of us bleeds.
Widows web resting
inbetween the lilies
adorning your hips.

If you glance southward,
a stabbed jester is crying,
bleeding out onto the meadow
surrounded by red wildflowers,
while the sun is shining bright
and the birds vanish into the clouds.
He's been like that for a while, I
doubt he'll ever stop. Or die.
"But don't worry!" he says,
"It's okay, it didn't hurt".

Black widow crawling up white flesh,
along the moths and butterflies,
across the imps and critters
landing just below the
tribal sigils planted
atop the hill.

Black widow is
squirming and writhing,
the two of you dancing in
splendid synchronicity. Flamenco,
with that reddened, swollen shell of yours
which I so deeply revere for its elegance.

In this tender moment,
the stars are immortal and
the moon faintly shrouds
the city in bone-white rays
of tragic incandescence.

Black widow retreats to its web and
the moths and butterflies have
gone to sleep now.
Rest easy, sweet
Hedone

We follow the ****,

the sun has sunk next to us --


and makes the grass gleam.

A gust of frozen air passes by.
Sand and silt submit to air.
The ground is barren and bare.
The sky is quite.

Frost creeps through stone.
Warped whistling is abound.
Distant wolves howl.

Atop a frozen lake I stand.
My clothing ***** to the wind.

The ice breaks.

Golden sunlight drips
Kintsugi salve on the hills
Three trees remaining

Sunlight endows warmth
Golden strata breathe promise
Three trees remaining

The hills pray for aid
The sun renders grains of gold
Three trees remaining

And by remaining
Three trees swell with seeds of hope
Gold granulation

A grand scenery,

it makes my presence smaller --


and also my thoughts.

Looking over the canyon,
Grand and conniving,
A grim smile across the broken earth.

My voices echoes from it's bounds,
Without the faithful demeanor from which it came.
It calls back to me in the gambit of hatred,
'Shall you let evil rise again, or will you ***** your hand to end it.'

Every day I look

at the landscape, so unreal --


if one doesn't go there.

Enchanted with prayer, mountain halls
Bejeweled by its people.
As light unveils their rocky spires,
Breathes in the dawn,
Combining force
Of two opposing powers:
Resilient mind and stone.
A binding of things equal.
They twist, they torque,
Erupt with fire fueled by brawn.
Solidified in shared desire
To bring a life to form.