After all this time am I still awake?
Or am I still sleeping? One cannot know.
This a colored lens, anxieties take?
I don’t think it would make a difference so,
Our hours, what we perceive to be day,
Are spent towards the twilight leaning;
And what’s imagined to be night will say:
Rest. Awake. Do not spend all time dreaming.
Reality demands a sacrifice.
I will rise and in doing so procure
A dream that has enough blood to suffice.
What does the waking world hold that’s allure?
I will stay asleep and remember when,
Reality is a place I had been.
Posted in Life (or something like it), Sonnets
Tagged allure, asleep, awake, blood, day, dream, hour, night, poem.poetry, reality, remember, sacrifice, sleep, time
A morning sun swallows whole cold abyss.
Out of sunrise crawls forth another day.
Shadows in colds absence make way for this,
This place in time where playful daylight stays.
An eater of days gives birth to new dawn.
Its digestion is the passing of time,
And where once was silence there now is song.
Each days end, and I’ve heard too many, chimes.
Days pass, and I do not grow so tired,
That I may not rise and hold close each piece
Of my heart, and do so ’till expired.
Distant conclusion with so long a lease.
Devoured time and light and day now brings,
Value and reasons for my heart to sing.
Posted in On A Positive Note, Sonnets
Tagged abyss, chime, cold, day, daylight, digestion, heart, morning, poem, poetry, reason, shadow, sing, song, sonnet, sun, sunrise, time, value
This is the day that light dies alone.
So far away, yet close to home.
For home in nothing resides a shadow,
Of the path that leads to it. What can I do?
In wonder I gaze at stars above.
In wonder I look around.
The sun with dead light beats down.
A day of dead light is hardly day at all but time.
In times passing behind nothing, before it, void.
Light dies alone in past tense, and in its future bed.
It’s only alive in this moment, hope with it in our head.
I will not gaze behind me to find it true: all what I’ve said.
Daylight dies alone and I, now can finally see,
That I am not the one that light calls company.
Posted in Time
Tagged alone, day, dead, dies, hope, light, nothing, path, poetry, sun, time, void, wander
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.
Posted in Life and death, Sonnets
Tagged arise, darkness, death, float, life, night, poetry, secret, shadow, sleep, sonnet, sunset, time, twilight
Hours and hours, a timeless flow.
Where does all our spent time go?
Is it not a currency that we spend?
What location do our transactions send
These dollars and coins, these units of time,
Intoxicate us just like wine.
Everything in moderation; we must not waste.
Everything has a time, every thing has a place.
And as for the question: “Where does time go?”
It goes nowhere, for there is nowhere to go.
Posted in Time
Tagged coin, currency, dollars, flow, hours, Intoxicate, moderation, poetry, time, transaction, waste, wine
Held onto the same place for centuries.
Then she wandered for a hundred years more.
This journey could not be explained to me.
She searched high and low, ahead and before,
She searched, untethered to a time and space.
Time, a circle; past, present, future, now.
More in the past than elsewhere know her face,
And more faces than memory allows.
After me there will be more, and more blood.
As long as she wanders and doesn’t stay,
There will be no waves of foes like a flood.
To this day, her name, mystery remains.
She’ll no longer humor my inquiries.
Being Immortal Unintentionally.
Posted in Sonnets, story
Tagged blood, century, flood, foes, immortal, journey, mystery, name, poetry, search, she, space, stay, time, wander
Tiny cracks, tiny fractures in the sand.
Tracks: an arrow, pointing to the culprit.
Impermanence of pain felt by this land,
And with the tide comes memories forfeit.
Into the sunset one or two may go,
Leaving behind a stamp on the day fair,
Revisiting this day later to show,
There are none like it, no, none do compare.
This day and that, like beads on strings, endless.
Are they aware how fragile, made of glass
Are beads on the universes necklace?
Each day adds another that will not last.
Our days: numbered; grains of sand on the beach,
Beside times ocean, we must learn what the waves teach.
Posted in Musing, Sonnets
Tagged beach, bead, forfeit, glass, memory, necklace, ocean, poetry, sand, teach, tide, time, universe, waves