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 Sep 2016 Weasel
r
Here at the end
of the continent
everyday the same
sea and sky elemental
endless blue planes
interrupted only
by a wayward bird
a flash of white
like a gull
lost out in the null
as September wanes
into Autumn's moon
breaking like a spell
casting my shadow
like a sundial
measuring my footprints
away and alone
on these wind(s)wept
bare lonely dunes.
 Sep 2016 Weasel
r
deleted for contest submission
 Sep 2016 Weasel
Dawn of Lighten
Ambient voices lurk upon the tip of the ears,
As the ruffling of the leaves become faint and dull!

Shaken by those voices clamor your essense to a vilified characters,
And those sound intensified by the roaring thunder they seem to pound like war drums.

As the heavens shed it's tears to calm all senses to a full moon,
One can only indulge in the simple act of nature to light sound of rain drops to sleep.

Do we become the persona others echo,
And does one escape to runaway from energy of darkness?

It is a destined war to meet the oppositioned in battlefield,
And then you ask yourself if you are the truthful conviction of good?

The innocence isn't so much the victor of the scenario,
But the reflective nature to do the right things.

Those loud voices spilled the vile tongue of characters uncleansed,
And the dirt seem to gravitate the bubble you once protected your essense.

You try to rub off the dead skin that sicken your persona,
But seemed fatal attraction and unwelcomed maul of voices protrude.

Tremored hands can't seem to stop,
But the heart had seized it's pulse,
And looked to the self in the mirror no more.

Gasp to get some air in the drowning ocean,
As the weight of the back become stronger,
And reach out the arm to brace upon the nearest shore.

Everything must stay silent,
And then ask am I good enough?

The eternal struggle to find the person on the lake is a journey,
But one can't runaway forever from their own shadow,
Because the shadow will follow you for good.

Once you realize the reflection is your's
It is too silly to have ever feared it.
When voices tell you that you are no good, one must stop hiding from their personal shell to see the wonders of the world
 Sep 2016 Weasel
r
I recall
her lost smile

like a sketch
I draw from my memory

and those days in the rain
laughing, drops

hitting the creek
slow as a dream

until a shadow
fell across the mirror

brushing her hair
in a dark room

like a honeycomb
of sad bees

and double entendres
two lifetimes ago.
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