The Wisp

A wisp
floating,
gliding,
zooming in and out of abyss

Eyes,
The colour of caramel melting
Hones the skill of seeing past it

The Horizon
With its seductive snare
The promise of warmth
Of youth
sings with all its galore

The Wisp
Condenses away
To vapour
To particles
To nothingness.

The pupils constrict.

Stubborn

Be the stubborn frizz
Or the rigid stubble

The imminent morning alarm
On a forlorn Monday

The spec of weed in the perfectly manicured garden


Love them,

So deeply,

Fanatically,

Habitually.

The Forgotten Mistress

The constriction in my throat tightens.
I can smell you around me. Your gentle presence. Like the timid jasmine runner that once adorned the garden. The garden that you loved.

It has now lost the bloom. It may be greener. But it cries for the mistress.

The garden isn't alone in it's mourning.

Flashback

Flashforward thirty-five hundred days

Each day for a greying hair 

A slower metabolism 

And fewer laughters

Geography altered 

Apparel warmer 

Tide and time, wait for none

But time has stood still for one 

Glass, a two way mirror

Sees right past 

Shields one world from another 

For another thirty five hundred days.

The Weeping Willow

Laughter bounces amidst the branches, the wind playfully pushing a child

a traveller's den, a writer's retreat,
sat both under the shade to unwind

Vivacious Green, till the Winter's Might
covered in frost, awaiting the delight

Vicious and Fiery, shrugs off the snow
breaths tidings to the Natives of the Land

A disfigured scrap; ruins of The Flying Car
Malevolent and Merciless, protecting a covenant

Roots so mighty, towns have perished
Bizarre and nurturing, the Power of Weeping.