Tag Archives: life

An Element of Rust

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An element of rust remains
Upon the earth and what it contains.
No matter what rain may come
Still there’s rust when the day is done.
Iron towers crumble, boulders fade before the wind.
A question of death and the wages of sin.
Why should you wonder? Put it from your mind.
Rust to soil, then back to human kind.
Imperfect decay, gives birth to perfect form: us.
In all this there’s at least one word to trust,
Life is life, and death is death,
And from both we must make the best.

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From This Grave

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…and from this grave a flower grows
A little part of what’s lost shows
Then one tear from these eyes flow
At the sight of a flower that grows.

Huntley

Where the lights that go before us tred,
In darker days their absence led.
A flame out too soon, not quite begun,
When one cannot see their first setting sun,
Where the reaper concedes to angels
To ferry this small soul.
In lifes webs many tangles,
There’s one strand so bitter, and beautiful to behold.

Dedicated to the daughter of my friends Kendra and Jurian. May she rest in peace.

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.

Questioning Illusions


We cannot trust one more, one less,
We cannot trust ourselves unless, We accept this dream for what it seems.
We must embrace, then, what it brings.
Dream or reality? Who can tell, does it matter
When dreams themselves do not bother to flatter?
They do not think, they do not feel!
For heavens sake they aren’t even real!
What are dreams but reality only the dreamer can touch?
And what is an illusion if not then viewed as such?
These are questions. These are things
That define us, it would seem.
Not the answer, but the search,
And all we find there in between.