The Bride

the breath of perfect perplexity blows in fragrant harmony. hypnotic auburn waves cast spells of feminine wiles, the chorus reverberating even unto deaf visions. deceptive aura akin celestial effulgence causes delusions and iterated caprice.

sunlight makes her seem incandescent, blinding every sense and reason. the very air is woven in mysterious static, snaring every soul in reach. twinkled fairies shower upon her, adorning her a costume of constellations, and the angelic queen floats towards me.

Dawn of Our Lives

a breathtaking wonder
infinity and endlessness
a glitter upon scarlet shores
the caress of sun soaked sand

a diamond chill welcoming the golden sun
treasure upon distant unknowns
bloody pillows of the orange awakened
tall shadows of sentiment unearthed

the hush, the whisper of a countless age
witness to genesis and rebirths
conclusions and departures
passions and declarations

step upon infinite footsteps,
erased and reinscribed
the writ a record of our mortality,
forever the memory of an author's immensity

the immovable, jagged but worn
solid, the barrier seldom overran
once alive but now a testament,
of the countless ages of a cycle

the vast glimmer, a morning mirror to a wonder
silent, calm, shimmering in its clarity,
sparkling in its proud responsibility,
waving to its eternal daily reception

Failing Illusions

castles built on illusion,
stones conjured out of thin air,
courtyards brimming with greenery and paradise charm,
brought to life by rivalry and chivalry.

relative reality spun, formed and reformed,
hollow clouds the mold for the whole,
adventure the ballast, together it holds
and royal romance sets a tale of necromancy.

and then the evil ruler from the west
sets the floating castles nigh,
empty stones tumble to endless depths
and always takes the queen for himself.

Photo from www.public-domain-photos.com. Author: Jon Sullivan

The Meadowlark

and over again the meadowlark warbles to me in a flute like call, an about to that which pours extinguishment upon the gentle flicker of my exotic pride,

"i am here, neglecta, what wish would thou have me this time grant?"

the meadowlark peers down at me from its gracious perch upon the withered stump of the once life tree, a tree whose shadow has cast ills as long my memory has served,

"do you so despise me, tender heart, when all i have ever done is sing to thee honored and saintly woes?"

i pull closer about myself, shivering without the glint of the dapper light which streams, daunted by that holy wood, in wide arcs that shape its manifesto upon my pitiable patch

"i am not so tenderhearted as ye perceive, but for the sake of that which depends upon this wasted form, i bend to thy will."

Image: J & K Hollingsworth, Western Meadowlark, http://www.junglewalk.com/

Unfulfilled Longings

I skirt along the edge of something wonderful
but I know not what destiny resides at its core
I have made my wish, rubbed the lamp of fate
will it be granted?

I see a host of blessings amidst
threads woven at the loom of hope
their aura but barely reaches me
from within the garden of miracles

I almost smell the cool dewy beyond
bathe in the promise of a heart's paradise
the comforting green upon my feet
in the looking glass of diamond drops

will my wish be granted?
I long for this palpitating flutter to be calmed
the storm of mind overcast to be appeased
with but a word from the angel of promise

Storms of our Lives

as it falls, so will I
as it falls, I will stumble
as it falls, so will tears
as it falls, I can no longer be comforted

it is dark, I have lost my way
it is dark, did I willingly give myself?
it is dark, it swallows my heart
it is dark, I grope for light with desperation

the thunder sings to my soul
and the lightning rhymes with the storm in my mind
the grey skies haunt the depths of mine heart
sorrow drives me to a place long ago past

I long for it to wash away my tribulations
its hum to calm my wounded spirit
its hush to whisper comfort in my ear
its coldness to cool my boiling mind

I grope at forgotten comforts
frivolous abandonment of exploits past
memories of liberating laughter
simple comfort of friendly chatter

I am unsteady, the earth yields
I fall, it betrays me over again
it suffocates me sadistically
and snatches my warm comfort in its flood

suddenly, I long for the torrents
to sweep me away from myself
carry me to a place of reprieve
wrench my soul from this aching husk