Archaeological Find

Satellite

Looking through
a satellite windowpane
endlessly falling past the earth
searching for my soul
and only finding
the heavens

Quixotic

Light breaks through
a sullen cloud
to brighten my day
fills my soul with laughter
rising boundless hope
abruptly confounded
an unwelcome shadow creeps
across my path and darkens my face
Fear and dread are in the midst of reverie
not yet stirred from slumber
when light returns
in the distance I see
the mocking foe
his long arms promise restless change
constant conflict of light and dark
where the lines of battle
flux swiftly and fluidly
completing the great continuum
ceaselessly changing my soul
his long arms taunt me
from a distance
Shatteringly loud
I crash my visor down
I steel my soul
spur my steed
my fist curls tightly
as I ready my lance.

Soul Flower

the damp dew of the dawn
brightly glistens on
closed petals capturing
the reborn sun
waiting on nature's unbroken promise
with the premise provided by
foreknowledge of beauty
of the coming bloom
No need to coax Her.
Sitting patiently cross-legged
until the flower wishes
This morning,
there is all the time in the world.

In the Willows

In the willows, damp and dreary
the autumn sky made me leery
spoke a sprite amongst the rushes
"Who goes there beside the thrushes?"

I said "It is but I here, amongst the thrushes."
"Who goes there, inside the rushes?

"Will you flinch, my soul to be?"
The voice wandered through the branches.
"Did I pledge, my soul to thee?"
My voice answered twain the patches.

A furtive motion was the only answer
Staying hither, I sensed disaster.
Courting chance, I ventured further.
"Could yon sprite be thinking murder?"

"No, not I" The lonesome reply
wafting through the autumn sky
"Then peaceful come for me to see,"
"If only me you will not flee."

Thoughtful I for a moment
"Then swiftly now so I may gaze."
Speechless mouthing my lament
To see my lover's graceful face

Three years hence I stand and stare
At the willows, when they're bare.
Thinking of that chance meeting
And our lives, ever fleeting.

Choked and Strained

The chains were heavy. He had been powerless against them. Thick iron links, as wide as a man's hand. Rusted but intact, they were bolted to the stone block. Carved by countless hands, each line ran with his sweat and blood. Still he strained, blocking thought, blocking emotion. The chains weighed heavily on mind and body. Especially on his mind. His memories were wrapped away. There were the chains, the block, the collar and the cuffs. Ankles and wrists, neck and back. Atlas would be proud. Rubbed raw, his skin stung from the sweat. He would have felt anger, if he could. That had been taken from him as swiftly as had his dignity. There was nothing but the chains.

He had been free once, one glorious time, before the hooks had bitten his flesh. His old scars had been reopened. The familiar pain came creeping back. The chains tightened again.

Soon the chains would take his breath and then his life. In this dark place, thinking was impossible. It had been formed like that. Only the pressure existed. Pure in its evil. It remained and it permeated everything. It blocked the light completely, leaving the man dim with darker shadows. Shadows that hung down from his limbs, gripping and grasping his form. They dangled from the chains. The shrieking was half-formed and without a source, but it may have been the chains. Or the shadows.

The chains hung, the pressure built and soon something would break. Whether it would be the block, the links, the bolts or the man. Only chaos knew.