Fathomless is the mind full of stories.
I am so filled with this untamed Sadness I cannot place it or name it or Chase it away and it Haunts My darkest hours
By Obsidian Words5 months ago in Poets
I have come to know that grief Is all consuming. These last years have been thieves. They did not come quiet, Nor gentle,
I wish to strip away all pretense Peel back the layers and Expose another reality Fingers jam-sticky and Slipping on sheaths of skin
All I have come to know is rage. A simmering sort where the smallest flame Threatens to turn me into an inferno— Unfettered by reason,
There are shadows in dark places, And monsters in the light. I fear the things that hide amongst the dreamers, Not the night.
Memories become vibrant motes of matter Meandering the miasma of my mind Sometimes they might escape the latter To maunder amidst the debris for us to find
Refuse on rivers Carried beyond to the next A pattern of life
I dare not compare thee to a summers day For I stumble into midnight in those eyes, No innocence transacted when they stray
Warmth has left the air Settled in the leaves to wait Dormant ‘till Summer
The wind has become A whisper of itself now That the leaves are gone.
The flames are falling Feather-light gifts from the trees Most beautiful change
Mind her Wiccan ways Herb, stone and beast she summons Cure or curse, you choose
