in the darkest sky a silver glow
thoughts of time in memories to flow
day after day I watch it grow
till he fades in the times flow
yet in momentary darkness i await his glow
never to fail the silver light in times flow

The body rarely appreciates,
So however we treat it,
Eventually it depreciates.
The soul,
If we give to it,
Will grow,
Its glow is eternal.
Beautify the soul,
They way you would the body and even more,
Afterall its the inside that reflects on the outside.

How strange, a man who could choose to love, but hated instead. Himself most of all. What a pity it was, but that's not what he wanted, right?
He wanted their forgiveness, not their pity. Forgiveness for not being enough. But they thought they saw right through him, they know his ways. And he would agree.
   He's a writer after all, he would say. It's in his nature to dislike himself to the point of ignorance. But when does an act become nature? When does this character he has created become apart of who he is? Or was it that way all along?

The chill in the frigid night air
casts tremors of lingering shadows
upon an ancient windowsill
where a liquescent candle’s glow dims.

Peering into shattered mirrors’
silver hued jagged edges
that no longer reflect counterfeit images
a nascent paradigm unfurls in the wind.

Terrifying diminutive steps are taken
in directions au courant
enabled by years of refinement
in torrid near incessant fires.

An excrescence of wisdom
has broken the weathered mold
allowing a senescent wisdom
to shimmer a phosphorescent glow.

The venerable map leading
to this transcendent destination
is not read but perceived
through intuition’s faint whisperings.

©2015 janetaylor

The tick tock clock of time begins to turn;
as you roll over the sun sends wisps of light over the horizon.
Your mind softens and stretches out,
reaching through your nerves, filling your body.

The sun now peaking over the horizon,
the light growing stronger begins to stir the world awake.
The early morning glow flows in, filling you with warmth
A radiance of mind
and body.

She could talk a shadow back into the light..
With just the simple shine of her words....

She gave me a six foot copper wire
Infused with delicate lights
That glowed like small, rosy Suns.

Little does she know
That I bathe in this faint light
And I am no longer afraid
Of the Dark.

When I was younger, just a child. I remember someone telling me that humans emanate the slightest light off the surface of their skin. At the time, my grandmother would take me with her to church to learn about the ways of god, his angels, and the devil and his demons. They spoke of how not a single soul could look at god dead on, that even the holy angels would be blinded from the pure evanescence. And at night when I would lay down, I would pretend that I wasn't so bad if I glowed, even if it wasn't as bright as god itself.
But as I grew older I made discoveries, that the blind once walked among the bright, but now have no choice but to stoop to the shadows. Losing themselves.  No one would let themselves shine. Humanity was stuck in a place I came to think of as hell, and heaven was deep underneath the layers of shadows and cracks. That god was buried within this concrete, under the soles of my shoes, and that the devil laid in the darkest corner of my pupils, and I came to recall that the devil is beautiful and bright too.

Does that moon,
the one that casts a faint glow against my side of the Earth
know that it exists?
As I look into the eyes of that large rock in the sky,
I wonder if it knows I exist.
Does it know that I look up at it at night,
that I stare and write poetry about it,
that I wonder about it’s own conscious?