There is a beautiful tyranny flowing far beneath this liquid blue,
adrift within the mists of sorrow and rapture,
a flamenco composed of fragility and grace.
We arise from its unfathomable depths, seeking light,
searching for shelter from shadows' storms.
Nature's brilliance is bold and somber,
its shine diminished only by our lack of courage to rise,
our dearth of substance as fire rages, culled by our calling.
We float inside fury's grasp,
gasping for breath as we search for the surface
of dreams, awakened.
Contained by chrysallis, we seek to stretch unborn wings
in pursuit of greener grass and finer fields
which we imagine to be better than we now know.
Why can we not be pleased with what we find around us,
these things that pulse slowly beneath our touch?
We pursue refined honey of wildflowers far from reach,
the slow sting of a different breeze upon our upturned faces,
never understanding that we might, someday, be lonely for home;
memory will haunt us for what we’ve left behind
in the journey for more than we ever needed
to find happiness had always been waiting within.
Echoes of ancient civilizations
pearl deep within your song
as I drift serenely upon your tides -
I find what was once lost
inside the sanctuary of your touch
in these moments between sleep and dream.
You brought bouquets of laughter to me,
their silk scents lingering, when I could only remember
bittered parchments of mourning.
Your hands became a bridge
I was unafraid to cross on moonless nights.
Time has no borders here -
we need no compass to guide us
upon this sojourn of answered ache.
Emptiness has no memories here -
we hold ripe fruit to each other’s lips to quench
this unending search far beyond the glories and sadness
of spilled blood and dusted bone.
Would we mend each stuttered breath, each soundless gasp?
Would we fracture our smiles over the drenching of a single tear?
Days stroll quickly by, unnoticed, in a hurry to sleep, not dream -
only to be still for a moment upon this spinning sphere.
Nights unwind slowly,
nature's clocks tethered to walls we cannot endure -
we toss, turn, tear leaves seeking coolness
to soothe restless pursuits of Morpheus,
who denies our insincere pleas.
An offering of dusk flows within arbored eyes,
certain ephemeral movements -
we cannot release this costly endeavor
that binds us irrevocably to soil.
This brief existence is tenuous at best, a tentative gesture,
a quick exploration of tattered wings, gathered in flight.
The flames we create within our friction, our shared fragrance,
will lift us to another realm where death
is no longer master over life,
where love continues to evolve,
no matter the terrain.