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Posts tagged ‘poetry’

Light On Dark

Dear Diary,

 

Light On Dark

 

Behind the crafted mask you wear

I know what’s really hiding there.

 

Within the silken threaded lair

Lies a not so clever snare.

 

I step inside from light to gray

Knowing I will likely pay.

 

Fragile flowers I will lay

On the dark and dense decay.

 

The flowers rest upon the stain

Wilting as they soak the pain.

 

Their dimmed brightness is not in vain

Dark is lighter where they are lain.

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Before Dawn

Dear Diary,

I really like waking at O’ Darkthirty on most days. It gives me a chance to breathe the quiet and settle into my day. A new day that could and will bring anything. Some things expected, some surprises. My goal is to make each one count. I meet each predawn with anticipation and a musing cup (or 3) of coffee.

 

In the stillness of the morning dark,

Void of the call of any lark,

The trees are silent and waiting.

The day ahead could bring anything.

 

The quiet air surrounds me.

I am enveloped in what could be.

Before the bustle of the coming day,

I breathe the dark before sun’s ray.

 

I feel your presence all around me.

I see your face, but unclearly

Intermingled with the truth and pain,

Laced in love and joy within the stain.

 

I embrace it all to live what’s real,

To grow and die and truly feel.

Striving to be unhampered by

Superficial things that bind and tie.

 

Inevitable Chasm

The chasm is

beyond the bounds of normalcy.

It drops off sudden and steep.

It is murky and dark

to the cautiously searching eye.

Those who have gone before are mute to tell

what lies on the other side

of the noise and ceaseless maneuverings

that compiles living.

The abrupt end of known existence

is unfathomable.

Its presence hovers

peripheral to life being lived,

best ignored

until that corner is turned

to find the feet placed

at the cliff

gazing fully at the unrevealed expanse,

unable to return.

Flight

flight

Dear Diary,

 

You already told me

that I can fly.

The breathless beach day sky beckons

but the wings are not ready.

Impatience chafes

as the wings are dressed and redressed again,

fitted and groomed for distance flight,

not for short sprints.

Wings of strength and force

must be honed

to arc and soar instead of to flit and flutter.

 

You already showed me

that I can fall.

Stranded on the earth

until muscle and feather are reconstructed,

better equipped for future flights.

 

You will not enlighten me

where I will go or what it will take to get there.

But you have prepared me to fall and to fly,

to embrace the cycle

with fully extended wings.

To leap further than before

without reservation,

into the extraordinary blue.

Light On Dark

 

roses

Dear Diary,

 

Behind the crafted mask you wear

I know what’s really hiding there.

 

Within the silken threaded lair

Lies a not so clever snare.

 

I step inside from light to gray

Knowing I will likely pay.

 

Fragile flowers I will lay

On the dark and dense decay.

 

The flowers rest upon the stain

Wilting as they soak the pain.

 

Their dimmed brightness is not in vain

Dark is lighter where they are lain.

The Running

 

A_flower_field_on_the_sea_France

Dear Diary,

 

The Child is poised

On the edge of an endless field

Crisp, tall grasses sway and wave

Cajoling the vivid wildflowers within.

The shy bright sprigs

Slide against the shifting sea of grasses,

And then coyly bend away

In the ruffling breeze.

The breathless wind skips over the tips,

The whispering is barely audible.

It teases the flora

And it teases the Child,

Tickling a place deep within that has no words or reason.

A child must run

When faced with a wide open field

Or even a long corridor.

The impulse insists

And the Child runs

Happily embracing the burst

Of brief careless freedom.

There is no destination or purpose.

There is only the running.

 

 

 

 

Stealth Inspiration

jungle-cat-light-tiger

Dear Diary,

 

Rustling in the fringes

That Thought

A flash of indiscriminate color,

A glimpse of the quirk of a mocking smile,

Then stillness

Opening out and spreading

Silence seeping in, then saturating.

That Thought

Nowhere to be seen,

Or heard

But I feel it,

Pulsating,

Breathing

Blending with the surrounding scenery.

Time slows

The Thought hides

and I wait, poised and expectant

for Inspiration to leap and strike.

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