rock, joint, inner, sight, sail
Standing on a rock, alone, he lost sight of her shadow.
Gone the tenuous line, the light joint in their inner lives,
dissolved, her face less and less recognisable,
a sail soon disappeared in the
immensity of his despair.
Image: Orpheus, by Pierre Amedee Marcel-Beronneau, source
leaf, home, alter, light, front
There, she knew well, it was her home, her friends, where she’d met him. Here, was another leaf, both of them now almost past the light, an alter-life she did not understand, even feared a little, however familiar she was with the language, the everyday words. Indeed this was different, in a way she had not expected. She did not know where to be, there was her past, and much happiness, here was the unknown, only clouds in front of her. But him, did he know?
Image: ©2019 Mark Fernyhough, The Berlin Architecture Series, Kaltblut Magazine
dance, inner, break, hue, lost
A break in the clouds,
the many hues of the sky,
a dance of angels:
the inner light
of your lost dream.
Image source: pexels.com
charcoal, shade, pale, wake, lucid
The rain fell, almost silent, but she could hear the little stream, outside, through the open window. She called the instant the lucid wake: those minutes before the first signs of the pale dawn. Then, everything is clear, the events of the past days in sharp relief, as if lit from inside. His smile, the fire on the beach, the shade under the pine trees, the smell of charcoal. But this wasn’t yesterday, it was years ago, her already distant past. And then it had been Summer…
Then the wine had tasted better, the air cleaner, the waves softer. His skin was like the sun itself. Where was he now? The lucid wake: she was alone, all fires long dead.
She could hear the little stream. Winter would end, another Spring would come.
Image source: https://wallpapersafari.com/winter-beach-scenes-wallpaper/
tremble – hit – desire – alter – depth
The fragile leaf trembles in the cold winds,
its desire for warmth altered
to fear in the depth of winter,
soon the cruel ice will hit
its feeble skin…
Image source: https://pxhere.com/en/photo/1198169
bed, flare, waves, gain, seek
We sought freedom in Space, a new frontier,
but gained nothing:
and, now, as novae flare up in the void,
we are shipwrecked,
on a bed of broken worlds,
forever drifting on the waves of Time.
Picture: Hold Up, Did We Just Crack Time Travel?, at https://lifeboat.com/blog/2016/02/hold-up-did-we-just-crack-time-travel
In the ancient church, on the medieval stones, he kneels. Alone, far above, a live star shines, cold as mystery. In the choir, the founders smile, bright egos. There is no plan, no heresy, merely the link, back, to our Lady. In silence he kneels…
Picture: from https://www.naumburger-dom.de
A late dream,
Don’t I know what to expect!
The storm must have woken me,
And you, dear angel,
Are still fast asleep…
Yet I know: the Enemy and his minions strike before dawn,
Hiding their hideous shapes
Behind the windows’ frames…
I wrap myself in your gown,
And swear at them.
Picture: from this fantastic site: http://darkdreams.centerblog.net/1396-les-nagas
The demon bowed low, and attempted to spin his speech, as if it felt a surge of guilt. I had to smile, even as I felt like having a rant at those annoying busy-bodies. I ignored the fellow, and went back to my page, and the story of a city overrun by the Enemy and his creatures.
I am a light sleeper. Maybe I have become one. Not that I wake up for no reason, not at all. I just hear sounds, sounds, not noises. In my sleep I try to identify them, like what was that rapping at the window? Or, was that stones falling in the courtyard?
I listen to the rain, I hear creatures moving. Also, I see marks, on mysterious old walls, and I try to decipher them, still asleep. Then I wake up, or near enough, and I can’t see them anymore. This makes me think, as I go back to sleep, that I may be inventing things.
The floors shake, the ground vibrates. Is this a dream, or is there an earthquake coming? The night is a long adventure, with short intervals. No ground to worry, it’s age. Or that is what I keep telling myself.
Old memories, the little demons amusing themselves to annoy me. This is it: they can’t unsettle me during the day, so they take their revenge at night, or try to. Bar a failure of imagination, I still have plenty of ideas of what they may be up to next, that is tonight. And the night after.
Image source: le grand homme de la nuit
