Leaves & Sticks

A screeching bird rests on my soft pillow She sleeps a nightmare of unrest Onto which we have tortured, clamped, held her wings It is just a wallowing bird Yet we treat it so For where do the pain and hurt go Of pasts long forgotten Where can the loved ones go? If the hells that are long lost If not in a yawning chasm Remember me once more o beloved When I kiss you goodbye I wave to you in a fading twilight That gathers me in its rambunctious folds Move into a Light that envelopes you For only that Light can be seen that is of a further nature If that bird does get freed, then allow it to be a free spirit Into yonder it flies, into yonder Into a restful sleep It is a bird of metaphoric symbols Of life, lost and found so Forgive it its follies For it is now at rest In a twilight that only some can see For we have yet to accomplish the morrow Of many, many lives Of many sins, of many deeds untold Let there be no more screeching of the birds, of tempests forgotten Of sorrows that now lie

The leaves smother the lilting moon As my wandering eye gazes upon this frothy cloud I see the imperial vision of the diamante circle Slithering softly behind the mirage of the frothy cloud My yearning heart skips a beat As I imagine Him embracing me Glistening golden beads of sweat Arise from my bosom of heated flesh                                                                                        The moon starts working its molten magic As I surrender my moist rose with a gasp Fluttering rose petals, dewy cheeks Melting kisses, whispered love As I rise and fall in crescendo I imagine He has been here Caressing away my tears I whisper to the Moon To let him see me, heaving thus.... A voice beckons from beyond, a whispery voice... Of love that has long been buried I rise from my slumber, like a maiden forlorn I comb my wet hair, wipe my moist cheeks... I ready myself for Him And as I prepare in my rituals of love, I see a vision upon the cloudy light It is

The delicate weft of the green.... The bird rising in the stormy tempestuous of the green glass... And at the euphoric tempestuous green glass Rambling an infinitive flowing water.... But the green, the delicate, the silky weft of the infinitive flowing water.. The delicate weft of the green glass And the bird, a rising bird...in the delicate weft In the infinitive...a bird....and a delicate green....