Oh, bucolic pastorale,
Dawn brings a carnival,
Golden-pink, sunrise hues,
What a wonder for our view,
Dawn draws back her veil,
Night vanishes, sunlight's grail,
Our skies aflame,
End nocturnal games,
Oh, bucolic pastorale,
Dawn brings her carnival.

Oh, should I have a dress made of sunlight,
Embellished with dewdrops from heaven;
And a crown on my head full of stardust,
From stars that will dance on my head top.

The morning shall curtsy to me,
I, the maiden of light.
The sky will acknowledge my presence.
The earth will rejoice with the heavens.

Oh, should I have a dress made of sunlight
and the stars atop my head,
I could gnash my teeth at darkness,
and darkness will run and hide.

I simply admire the way
Sunlight streams into my bedroom window
And filters through translucent curtains,
Merging with the dying darkness,
Till all is engulfed in light.

Warmth has arrived,
Blissful sun rays that kiss upon skin
With the tenderness of a parent's embrace.
It starts in the tissue of my face.

It seeps a little deeper,
Pervading my infinite layers
As if it dreams of warming my soul.
However, it cannot fill the hole.

The heat has come at last,
The season has shifted from cold
To blistering, filling warm.
Yet it does not end my storm.

you only loved me during the summer because you were happy
because of the sunlight
but when autumn arrived
you decided it was time to walk away
i had become love faded

Everybody always quotes about laying in bed at night, alone and depressed, but nobody ever states what it feels like to lie in the comfort of your own bed at any hour of the day, with no one to take and give comfort to. You're alone in the sunlight, empty and distressed over the fact that you have no one at all to spend your time with. The day is when you are meant to have fun, and be with people, but when you are explicitly alone then, well, that is when you feel the most deflated and dejected.

Your fingers caress mine.
Our palms separated by a hair's breadth.
Our hands finally embrace each other.

They write poems to declare their love.
The negative spaces between fingers are filled out with warmth and sunlight and you.

But the hair's breadth is a canyon.
We both know your sunlight isn't tangible.
Are we holding hands?
Or ideas?

"There are defining moments when the blossoms bloom in spite of the wind, the reeking dryness of the ice cold plies of travelling light amid concrete, in speeding flight to grasp a sparkle of light, or a quick breeze of air, before their spines crumble and the petals back in despair!

These are the moments when and where, my eyes come fixed in constant stare... and then the nights takes away the plight with restless sleep!

You see, in the midst of all this, all this whirling and twirling, forth comes the sun, then the moon, all too sudden, all too soon... amidst all this noise so out of place, this stone grown pile of grace, and disgrace... so out of pace; the flowers I can see leap for a breath of air! amidst of all this despair, there are flowers out there, stealing their place in time! like the winds plying through the cracks in our old souls, one sweet glance at the braided bedding dawn, against the winds, the sudden winter, and stone! One quick strife for freedom, and then... no more!"

A.r. Bazian
*Mar 21st, 2015