Wisps
Of words
Drift down slowly as
She sits,
Invisible and forgotten.
Huddled,
As the world caves down on her.

Even though no one notices her,
They all point,
Stare,
And scorn.

An outcast,
Not knowing the reason why
They talk about how
"Dangerous"
She is.

Rumors and gossip spread like wildfire,
Burning her the worst,
Third degree burns to the soul.

They never realized how
Close to the edge
They pushed,
Until she jumped,
And put out the fire forever.

This moment.

Sunrise at dawn.
Wading into each others lives.
Togetherness and warm.

Picnics amidst the day.
If the world would just collapse.
This is where I'd stay.

Sunset giving into the stars.
Looking into you.
Along with Jupiter and Mars.

I know one thing for sure.

Where we are or what we do.
Its all irrelevant.
All I ever needed was you.

As time passed he watched, his
Eyes glanced upon space, fluid
Moments, motions heeded by
Ever expanding views.

He could momentarily slow a
Ever changing fraction in the
Life span of this ever expanding
Place.

Everything needed attention,
Seconds, minutes kept in tune.
For without the tuning a second
Could take an hour, a minute
Would be a lifetime.

Tick, tock goes the universe,
Everyplace a different moment
As distance still had rules.
Galaxy time, solar time, each
Different juncture on the hands
Of an ever moving clock.

There were places where even
The hands had broke, never a
safe place moments colliding
Space, time not the same. An
Error in creation it happens
Sometimes.

He was the watch maker of the
Universe, and he kept us all in
Time, all in a moment never to
Repeat unless the hands broke.
But he was always moving time
Forward, each at its own pace.

Unbeknown to her, she was the other daughter.
The clairvoyant said she was born of water.

“Your beauty is your saving grace,
for so admired is your cherub-face.”

“My dear child, hold my hand close to you,
& see here, a young girl; veiled in black.
Worshipping the moon, beside a wolf pack.”

“For you, are celebrating a Lunar New Year,
requesting the spirits, my dear
beholding the Universe in the palm
of your hands. In the shadows, a silhouette
is walking towards you; a woman of a quintet.”

"You hear the piercing tone of a shawm,
a choir of voices & women barefooted
whose anklets ****** as a ritual dance
begins. But you stay. A statuette in stance."

© Sia Jane

Innocent words of wonder
Burn the purest of souls to ash
The Goddess of love,
She spews her lyrics in tinkling sighs
Completed by the one whose light burns brightest
He lights the path of others
Consuming their shadows as they pass
A dragon of fire to fight the darkness
And she sings in sweet daffodils
Satin petals and the Heavens open wide
She sings of pain and the dragon feeds
She sings of joy and he watches
As the words are once again absorbed into her essence
The Goddess welcomes this guardian of light
Never knowing that her words
Pilot the fire that eats the shadows that surround him
Bitter pangs of abrasive truth
Wrapped in delightful ditties of eternal enamoration
He fights her darkness
She fuels his fire

it was on a hill of a clever neighborhood
the errant flow well guised beneath the clay
upon reach of the summit
she is all that can be held
her pull far too magnetic
her skin, akin to milk poured by Luna
her hair is the black of midnight
on the eve of the new moon
she sits facing inquiry with her injured one facing her
on a rounded copper colored chair
placed curbside
Sophia speaks then
a monotone misgiving
that pours out
as a sly pompous
indifference

wind of summer
too vagabond
drunk
touching the melancholy afternoon
of the last pale season

flowing over the
deep yellow barren field
echoing the last mystic sound
though yet romantic
spring
the purples are deep
divine

butterflies are flying around
a few birds playing
on the ground
suddenly singing
uttering love

yellow
the golden yellow floating
in the eyes  
over hued
saturated

dropping on the ignored
dry
wither leaves
as the rain drops that has made
a blue
day dream

crossing over the mind  
a jingle
leap singing
classic
the very lost spring
scrolling into
soul

even in the lonely dark night
rolling up
the sound
as the rolling stone
of the sounding sea

@Musfiq us shaleheen

Thorefin,
Therifen,
Theraphin,
Raven Angel.
I do not expect
you to undestand.

I am he.
He is me.
She are we.
We are thee,
And there are more.
I do not think
This is something
Ordinary men conceive.

All the paintings of darkness
Are not to impress upon the critics
The level of my shallow depth,
Nor are my phrasings for the sake of vanity.

It is the darkness that gives lessons to the light, of things that I am not afraid to learn.

Like a papillon in a  season of change,
I am transformed into a dark lamp,
For I  have stood in many shadows.

I have soaked up the knowledge.

In my shadow,
Illumination awaits.

Beholding you would make Venus blush in her garden,
madly jealous of the curves of your lips,
and there she would smolder
like some jealous rainbow
unable to be content in her own shimmering
because she still revolved around the sun,
and not the other way.  

I'd wait there -
under the moonlight
- among the fragrant petals
with the gurgling of some small fountain
somewhere off in the distance

The Cumaean Sibyl was the priestess presiding over the Apollonian oracle at Cumae, a Greek colony located near Naples, Italy. The word sibyl comes (via Latin) from the ancient Greek word sibylla, meaning prophetess. (Wikipedia)


Songs of prophecy on oaken leaves
Unread; unclaimed; unrequested
Fly from out either of the many entrances
To her cave chambers.

She doesn't mind. Poet or prophet, the
Wind has hands greater than human;  
Words without willing ears wrestle away
Without struggle.

Only they and the wind see the beauty
Of it. She? She doesn't mind.
Guide to the Underworld, she has greater
Things to meditate on than

The Infants of the Universe
In their insignificant sandboxes.
Here; more poetry. Come who may,
To read.*

Who may.
Apollo's twisted payment for her
Pleasures: As many years of life as grains
Of sand in her hand.

But she forgot to ask for youth.
After a thousand years, only her voice is
Left, whispering: Children, all will
Be well. It already is.

It already is.

night wears
her
black velvet dress
sprinkled with starlight
and sun mountain pearls
adorned her neck
thou art
the most beautiful
Black Athena