Abolished is the old way,
Construed with figgery,
Ensnarled in pain and disjointing–
A neglected campfire–
Subsumed in choking ash.
Daylight a figment.
Implosion being the course.
Alone in the black,
It’s not the wanting–
Like fragments tumble in sparks,
Fill the blackened chamber.
Restrain old whispers–
Between the shutter-slats,
Begging at freedom,
A hammering smack the window glass,
The bitter, howling, grey morass,
Transparently the pounding rain–
Flailing madly in disdain.
The view from through the sealed gate,
A contrast by which to acclimate,
Ensnared in comfort’s clinging grip–
With a steaming cup of tea to sip.
Staring out at fury and storm,
Curiously watching while safe and warm,
The moment when I want her here,
A pathway forward not yet clear,
To hold in dreams until a promised time,
When her touch and grace will yet be mine.
On dandelion winds,
Brushed over with delicate leaves.
Boisterous as laughter,
Pounded hollow log thumps–
Push the churned blood,
Enshrined by citrus light.
Upon the cusp of promise,
Shattering rays to reveal–
What lies within.
Twins of twilight–
Pixie-blink a flicker,
The grounded stars dance,
Their fires alive.
Back across the stretching sky,
Racing alone to a distant–
Dust falls to ash,
Dimming until dark again.