Category Archives: Life and death

Bone Garden

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A garden of bones,
Planted in stone.
Living are the seeds sown,
Decay: germination’s home.
Bones become as the flower blooms,
And blooming into a flower unseen,
Mice are this flowers bees.
This garden of bones is no tomb.

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Shadows Follow

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We are followed everyday by shadow,
By the long shadows of our future selves.
Time has no meaning in an endless flow,
Where shadows patiently wait for our tales,
When they will be told in a different light.
How is it we’re constantly in sunset?
In sunset about to pass into night.
Darkness,when we return to sleep so blessed.
All our cold shadows sit and wait and see,
When we arise, where we might float and go.
When life-blood loosens its grip and we’re free.
There’s a secret to the sunset I know:
“One wakes only in the twilight of day.”
Our shadows to us, have oft’ tried to say.

Lioness

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Rest.
She sleeps.
Tired from the day, she’s still and cold.
Tired from the blood she’s carried.
Long life past, now she’s old.
Now far from demons she’s long buried.
No regrets, her own grown strong,
They’ll find a new grave to carry
Her to where she can rest from demons wake,
From the words of death she spake,
From what she carried for so long,
So her own to demons pacts
Would not be sold.
Or so I’m told.
She takes this secret to her grave.
The children know of what she gave,
But not of  sacrifices made.

Windswept


Windswept I,
Gaze upon an unforgiving sky
Indifferent to me and mine.
It is kind to me,
But not because it cares,
The blue sky apathetic
To the way I stare.
Wind blows,
But does not speak to me
Although I hear its words.
I know,
On the waves of this raucous green sea,
I will remember nothing,
And no one will remember me.

Final Hour

To consider ones mortality, in youth, that we may see,
How long a lasting friendship, with that, we may be.
In understanding a child, to the reaper, gives a flower,
So that in passing, they’ll be friends when met in that final hour.

Dreamer in a Dream

When the dreamer can only see what his dreams allow,
When the mortal can only be
What through their minds can plow,
The dreamer wakes to realize
That all his dreams may seem
Only what his conscious mind
Would safely want to see.
This illusion of a dream
And the night that takes us there,
The illusion of the daylight
And the waking time spent bare.
We are the makings of what dreams we see before fading into rust.
A dream within a dream? No matter. We’ll all soon turn to dust.

As Mortal as Reality Falls

It’s where few of us lie, aiming
Beyond the illusion of what we can see,
Far past the barrier
Of what we can’t be.
There our dreams, goals, and wishes,
Not far from our reach.
Across the nothing, a bridge
To what we can’t yet complete.
Across the gap, this void of ignorance,
There is a voice that calls,
“Time is as finite as its observer
And as mortal as reality falls.
Do not be saddened, we all must die,
That’s what makes our time here precious,
An immortals time is nothing,
As an infinite store of gold: worthless.”
It matters not if the illusion is real,
Or the barrier can’t be moved past,
What’s important is we try and fill
Each moment with what then lasts.
Time is as finite as its observer,
And as mortal as reality falls,
Our lives are adolescence to eternity,
Before our names, that voice, does call.