Slithering shadows
Once born under those elm-trees,
A forgotten afternoon breeze -
Left the sight of the dreamer
Alas, time froze at dusk,
Capturing fog in its embrace
The long search for mysteries
And voices of the dead
Took its last flight
O’ wind chimes in the distance cliff,
You stole my summer away.
A body at this instant halted by
Some darkened days-
Caged behind the worldly tethers,
Wishing upon shackled feathers,
To let the wind unravel
These locks and chains.
For do you not see,
This dove doesn't want to stay?
Living with delicate truths
These simple unadorned quills,
Entangled by poisoned clouds -
Her soul wants to flee
Perhaps a petty twig she is
On a secret hill
But to be free is her only plea.

Step by step a kite ascends to the sky
regains  memory of transcendence
of once being the echo of a cloud
sailing speedily westwards.
the kite remembers another life
and strays far beyond it's distance permitted,
when the string rudely pulls it back,controls,
the young cloud, narcissistic
still keeps it's love for the echo, in swirling
wisps of vapor as gently caressing wet touch

The lone woman who suppresses deep inside her chest,
the tumultuous waves of love and passion,
imbuing the emotion sunset spews, suddenly breaks down
the startled sea breeze is the only witness to her outburst.

the sky slipping fast in to the gloom of darkness
stands frozen, silent, as if melting in the pain love causes,
when one bids final good bye to the beloved, vowed never to part.

They said be careful
what you wish for
but all I asked was
the stars and then
the sky
you once said that
it was all mine to take
you said love is like
a day you wanted to break
for me
talk was never your forte
yet you were always
like the sound of thunder
on a stormy sea
and I was a tugboat
wandering
too shallow in the sea
but too far from home
sometimes I could almost
feel your mouth
shape the words
I love you
even though all I hear
is you saying
goodbye
like you found the good in it
like how it was always
the subsitute for
our brass silence
I feel like I could almost
catch the falling rain
and then I realized
that at some point
dusk looks exactly
the same as dawn.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" you inquire.
I shrug and shake my head, trying to make the question slip-slide its way past me.
"Something. I can tell," you **** on.
I don't exactly know how to explain the hodgepodge of thoughts bustling around up there.

How all of the mismatched puzzle pieces sometimes inexplicably manage to assemble themselves into a picture, but it always comes out distorted.

How my mind is eternal dusk, that magical moment where anything is possible and the night is full of promise. But remember, that's also when the monsters come out to play.

How I have this uncanny ability to skew every word, look, or memory until every one of them is so tainted I will burn us alive while you wonder what the hell is going on.  I'm good at sabotage, you see.

You don't want to know what's going on in this head of mine.  You can try to connect the dots, but none of them are numbered, and you'll lose yourself attempting to understand me.

Pleasant thoughts of beauty
fill my waking hours
watching you, just watching you
as you tend your beloved flowers.

I’ve watched with joy for many years
and I always feel the same
as beautiful as the flowers are
to you they can’t hold a flame.

Flowers grow from your loving care
and in the breeze I see
they seem to smile as you pass them
I think they agree with me.

I sometimes wonder as I watch
how life could be so kind
to grant me life within a world
that allowed me you to find.

And as the dusk approaches
a halo glows round your head
perhaps you are an angel
and I’m in Heaven instead.

©Joe Wilson – My waking hours 2014