For the wind blows,
And it tears her skin away.
And she shouts out all the words
That eat her alive,
From the windows.

And when the sun sets,
She paints her eyes
And frees her wings,
And flies.

And in between all that ceremony,
She sings in a broken voice.

What’s your name?
Does it have a sensuous timber?

Like Nina, and nuance- necessity, and
No nonsense numb love

Like Rayna, and rapture,a release, and
Rending/rupturing by a rasp in the
dark

Unending length and infinitesimal declaration of love and hate
It's ulcerating in your mouth and
unsteadying in your bones

Your name is like two future lovers
Hands inching hungrily
For the first touch, they graze
Slightly at first, slowly, playfully
Dancing lithely in a crowded room
Groping and touching fingertips and skin
And then the fingers interlock

Hand muscles contract to such a degree
That your intentions
Shine

And for the ephemeral and ultimate
The silent inching explosion of passion
Is the universe

Why do we have a sick obsession with fleeting encounters and quick passions
We brush the surface of interaction

We brush lips
we brush hands
we brush lives yet
never pressing the surface
we never press our passions

We need to press our lips
we need to press our ambitions
we need to press our hands
we need to press our lives into symbiosis.

We are scared for what happens after the blissful, brief, mysterious moment
what happens once the surface is broken

We fear rejection.
We err toward safety- to minimal contact- minimal exposure- minimal risk
Our fragile continence’s are limiting our life- our passion- our love.
Turn down the offer for fleeting life, fleeting passion, fleeting love.
Dare to press deeper- life has more to offer than mitigated risk and passing romances.

Rapprochement
was necessary for survival

Handicraft helped
but shelter was not necessary as the world burned

To phase'out companionship
invites emetic death

Blazes hot enough to burn stars
smolder with sulfurous fumes

The flames burgeon illumination
as worlds are rent

All forms of hesitation are irrelevant with
society's abutments collapsed.

To pass freely was
never an option.

The Holocaust didn’t happen
Everyone
Knows that
Six million people died
A war was fought
Evidence was found
Testaments were made
The world was changed
But come on
Everyone
Knows
The Holocaust didn’t happen

Those concentration camps were
Brutal
Those emaciated people were
Horrendous
Those war crimes were
Real
But come on
Everyone
Knows
The Holocaust didn’t happen

Questions concerning
Reality
History
Fact
Fiction
All moot points
Because
Everyone
Knows
The Holocaust didn’t happen.

Eternal whispering in my ear,
Your laugh almost a song,
But fold you in my arms I will,
Every breath a brewing storm.

I heave with your heart,
Midway between ephemeral and divine,
Bound to me with my feeble hands,
Oh! To see your eyes in mine.

To feel your thoughts on my shoulders,
Heaven strewn with the fiery dregs of goodbye,
The euphoric envy we feel for it,
We recline with the sky.

Dusk

The flowers unfurl their petals
Towards the dark Night sky
The roses smile up at the Moon
Which shines happily upon the sleeping world

The breezes blow the muslin curtains
Which hang at my open bedroom window
And the shadows of the Moon
Flicker across my room, the floor, and me

The sounds of Night come softly
Through my window and hush me
To sleep like a lullaby of music
Which sends me into a world of dreams

And such is the enchanting Night
With it's glorious Moon
Which watches over all
While they sleep at Night


Dawn

Sun rays come dancing through my room
And greet me with brightness and joy
And the smell of flowers
Come blowing through my bedroom on the breeze

The sky is a painting of beauty
And of colour
Pastel clouds of pink float through the
Blue watercolour sky

And the song of birds wake the
Sleepy world with an anthem of praise
And of life and sunshine
Such beauty is beyond my words

Silhouettes of pine trees and furrs
With the back ground of God's sunrise
Make such a lovely picture of too much beauty. . .
That would take such a long time to describe
With pen, ink and paper while relaxing in the caressing breeze


~Hilda~