drawn pale moon blind
reflected in black waters
the mirror of which
they did call you their
beloved moonchilde
do you remember?
do you recall?
before the wheel
was sent spinning?
knots and lace
tarot and song
petals on sheets and
myrrh in our hair...
come for me under night
the one once called
beloved moonchilde
we lost those
flowers in our hair
when winter winds
stole our breath
and turned our
hearts to stone
i have been sitting
for so long under
apple trees waiting
for fresh blossoms
to fall
a hilltop kiss
above old creek wending,
tangled of vale
all grains gone gold
in autumn hours with
a sun hung low
burning within, without
you whisper a secret
for me to keep
my head on your breasts,
slumber come tomorrow
I often wonder lately if it is my shadow drawing me into dance and embrace, if the million mile journey is here in my heart and conventional wisdom would say that I never need leave home. I give my shadow name, because a shadow should not remain without a name just because it refuses to share one.
“Scáthach,” I whisper and it just laughs and twirls away. The mistress of shadows, in the castle of shadow, from an island far, far away. It is neither denial or affirmation, and I do not have the energy to play a neverending game of warmer and colder. If it is just my shadow, it would likely care less how it is named.
But I need a name and so give it one.
(more…)
i can't explain
the tears ragged
at the edge when i
open up a workbook
collection of half-
suggestive memories,
why both urges claw
for slamming doors
or walking inside
poison years weary
and all i can think is
i wish you were here
whoever you are
lingering in shadows
in the deep corners
of my mind
fingernail tracing moon shadows
cast on your pale, white thigh
wondering why we must ever
only embrace this way in mists
acceptance creeps
it was never this lot
to be, longing & only
i see
i see
i see
a flash of steel in
the full of bleak moon's
pale face fading
behind stormcloud doubt
an imposter waiting
scarlet tears, dry rain
No campfires for me last night, I’d decided. Instead, I elected to wander away into the day that followed flame as I left the camp behind: Sun blazing on one side, Moon cool and pale on the other. Maple’s yellow leaves fell mystic around me, an autumn kind of sakura celebration lacking only the plum wine for the stream ran beside me, falling over stones and breaking white the reflection of the sky.
(more…)somewhere along the path
i somehow lost my way
that was what
old craggy guy
was trying to say, just
get back to the sit...
an expert leading
by example
