Reflection of the Supple Tongue

Image by Lee_seonghak from Pixabay

A stone pillar above dry earth.

A hollow tree of blossoming leaves and jingling beams against the rising dawn.

A promising wind chiming, dragging the chains of the bottomless pit.

Absurdity grinning through the cracks of the shattering reality for all it is, was, and will always be.

Brine and Outrage of the Distant Brethren

Image by Prawny from Pixabay

Denuding the wintry scales

of a dragon loved in empty disgrace

did bring oblivion to its knees ‘fore the arch-way of self-rendition.

The elusive symptom summoned the tidal wave

of the titan in emerald turnt gray.

“No more stone frontage!”, cried the oracle behind the stage,

“Harness the glory of the sunken race

as the triple head of sovereignty manifest”.

“It is dangerous”, I said, “a peril and terror of the earthly depth”.

“I know the wraith’s caress”, the oracle emerged more or less;

“The ice age preserved the pulsations of the roots’ remains.

Silver and mercurial in sentiment,

he whose path is marked by watchful consciousness is bound to rule

or die by his own intellect”.

The Fruits of the Sickle Bearer

Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

The marvel of an overlooked perception dazzled me. I feel that the Great Harvester tested the lesson on patience on me as I ventured about my day; albeit it is because I can be patient that I can gain insight into my surroundings and myself. My trajectory today led me to a hospital, and for various reasons, I was set to wait; however, my time was far from wasted.

Besides being bombarded by the usual everyday din and the unwavering restlessness of people, I found myself surprised when I realized that I could not summon into mind any day in the past few years and even further back when I found such an amount of elder folk in one place. The hospital’s entrance brimmed with knowledge and experience in withering vessels.

From the elderly, only one pale and short lady on a walker smiled with the same spark as would a child. The rest were torn and beaten, dwelling in severe semblances and pools of judgement

There was a black lady in particular who carried herself as if her strength would forsake her at any moment. She sat in a corner, far away in thought with eyes of glass. Such illuminating sight! This woman, this vast repertoire of art – her pain was of a beauty phenomenal. She glowed with the starriness of an abyssal sky, the many points of light reflecting through the deep waters of life. She dwelt in a beauty of another kind, yet she may never realize the charm.

Of Hollowed & Hallowed

If by virtue of love

I come to hold thee close,

my darling rose,

let thy petals guide the way

back to the master of hope.

Make the wind

the charioteer of my spleen –

the silken and sweet wish

of an eternal alchemist.

If by virtue of love

we abide within the all,

my precious soul,

the forest lore

indigenous to the core

shall unveil the jewels between worlds.

Whispers and echoing tones

shall join the carnival of glamour

in its seductive call of sandalwood and dragon’s blood.