Homecoming

For this,
Is where we finally return.
A desolate homecoming,
To the untamed shores,
Of untouched sand and unopened doors.

At the unbeknownst mercy,
Of the plotted turn of time.
The crickets resume their nocturnal chanting,
Tracing back to the peripheries of their past,
A prophecy of the night, a divine forecast.

The aged chambers of yesterday
Open up to shape new histories.
The wind dies down in desperation,
To stifle the whispering trees,
Prompting the silent slumber of subdued breeze.

The winding green ivy of requital,
Twists like a snake around our flesh,
Drowning us in our residual filth. 
Further away, the tides rise and fall.
The buried centuries echoing an ancient call.
 

Spirit

Sun-kissed and warm,
Toasted feet dug into sandy earth.
The shrinking walls fade into a blur,
Crumbling into a vision of shredded petals,
As if in a forgotten trance.

Your song breaks out of nowhere,
Like a wandering feather,
In search of an old ghost.
An act of remembering your tender stare,
With my own deprived thirst.

The solemn voice inside,
Gives way to muted words.
Unspoken, they cannot perform.
Yet they dance around the ethereal fire,
Those nameless flames igniting the netherworld.

Awaken the first stranger,
Your closest link to the unknown.
Tear open your darkest secrets,
Lay them bare at your feet,
Touch them, watch them melt away.

Odyssey

And then that still moment,
When we dissipated into smoke.
Stolen trails leading into the darkness,
Like tiny drops of light,
Dotting the fringes of our galaxy.

So we walk,
Like two lost shadows,
Drifting through locked doors,
Breaking the silence
Of broken, untrodden paths.

Twisting the surface of smiles,
Around the wounded layers of hurt,
Burying the screams of our bruised caution,
Our misguided footsteps go forth,
Stepping into the illusory edges of peril.

Mirror

Under the shadow
Of a page unturned,
Lost in the folds of dried tears,
Retreating into the years bygone,
Those lonely, wilting shivers,
Like a long winter's frost.

Reflecting in circles,
Flaws upon the muddy crevices,
Of an old mirroring lakeside.
Sometimes the shifting clouds
Speak to the coy night star,
Whispers of a thousand unlit dreams.

Space

Like the soft corners

Of a threadbare wooly blanket,

Amidst the seething, dark clouds

Filled with last night's lost downpour,

She came like the ocean's salty wind,

Tossed around like a withered autumn leaf.

So like the first speckles of an orange dawn,

The dazzled eye now sets the scene in motion.

Tenderly promised stories,

Blurring into one another.


After the engulfing darkness,

And before the blinding light,

Beyond the tantalizing schism of silences,

Between the two temporalities,

Lies the eternal brink of nothingness.

That edifying moment outside of all time,

Where there is both existence and non-being,

That is neither fully here nor there,

Knotted fire,

Consuming the inside from the out.