timeraider

time cuts obsidian engineering mountains allotting open sky - steel-shod symmetry overlays nature's fractured bands the planet curves - tawny brushstrokes tethered by charcoal clouds dance across buildings

A calming din belies the slake Of silt and soil and tumbled clay Abreast a cutting cliffside's wake Ere carried to a distant sea. The highest waters run most clear, For that they court the ether's ear And tousle veils of atmosphere Where air draws thin as angels breathe. The sun gives pause - a slow regress - Invites that I might linger, yet, As birdsongs die in mountains' wrest And stillness greets the waters' chime. But I am time's slow servant, bound, Presently kept and future wound, That calming din - my heart's own sound - Echoing down a mountainside.

Creation curls around my fists - Adorns the ridges of my veins - A tease at angels’ sculpt of bliss, Ere I churn dust in useless spate, Unveiling for impassive miens An empty slate - a remnant sum - Of westward winds traversing seams And coaxing out a summer sun To learn a sun’s own dreams. What then? To lose one by, or see it done – A contrast drawing pale to thin, The lines between gone swiftly numb – And I, the fool, who always bends In servile, sweeping devotion. Then - ask tomorrow how I dreamt - Ask if dreaming did a dreamer make - Bespoken only by a kiss Of dust upon unyielding slate.

My outstretched fingers never could catch rain. We should be storm shapers, you said; failing that, Familiarity would keep us together. I was not surprised you were wrong When you called us storm shapers. Failing that, I had no use for Spring's soft rains. How could I be surprised you were wrong - You had a way, after all, of summoning thunder-clap gales. I never had use for Spring's soft rains. I have our memories, though, and they make me happy; You had a way, after all, of summoning thunder-clap gales. I would laugh at how small, and frail, we were. I have our memories, though, and they make me happy - A familiarity that keeps me toget

Unbound, unwound, feebly covering unfolded Bits of me with patches of pride, Defensiveness and vanity I whisper softly, 'Brokenness is common to us all.' The strength in my eyes Waxes like a candle's flame.