disheveled enveloped

ghost husk

weird how the empty shell
just hovers there
an abandoned barrier
draped with threadbare silk
tassels tearing loose in the wind

she is teeming trying only to whisper of such lovely bliss

arrow zen

lightening she is
serrating up the sound of thunder

silver she is
glint of woaden dying against the plush

icy spark
at the beginning of the dark
catching fire
melding pure
through
the
frozen
burne

this is only a test.

logosatraceizallwaysnconneczswemake

prehended primarily
through reflective retina
to be caught, to be held
in a strange sweet net
of gray matter swirling
in those moments
when she knows
and loves the way
you can comprehend
the facts inherent
within all fictions.

even if the magic flower
wanted desperately to acquiesce,
still she might always choose not

even when mah-jeeka floor-aye
was in the deepest knead to acquiesce,
in truth of will she might always defuse knot

thus is the nature of such dance
en pointe of arabesque

into the season of the dead

she carried an ancient lidded jar made of alabaster.
it fit so perfectly in both her small palms cupped together,
the base of the jar melded through her delicate skin
to merge with the tiny bones of her hands.
there were no markings on the smooth lustrous surface.
though pale, the jar was glowing, colors ever changing,
illuminated by the spiral seedpods inside.
while she carried the vessel, she chanted and sang,
“i dwell between elements with song.
i am the spark, more than the fire.
i am the air a fire would need.
from these seeds a world will spring
shimmering across the dark layers of the deep.”

i guess it doesn't really matter anymore and i'm rather certain it never did.

with wreath she doth weep
she would reach out
her broken hand to thee
in soothing comfort
even as she crowns
the upturned earth
with a circle of flowers.

eternal she waits for you