To cast shadows within shadows of sticks that flicker, all you have to do is to look where

shadows hide within shadows.  I’m tattering my clothes of life fraying at a promenade to the

lazy elixir that has not fermented in words, but distilled in my veins when the shadow of

humanity becomes my field in the cold of winter.  Where I impale myself, where the icicle drips

of blood, bantering with the plea of life washing away in winter’s thaw, becoming spring green

burying all chicanery with oneself and the ripping of honey sunshine, sweet rubbing hope of

newborn growing old in life’s chapters, only to see the wind twirl .  My fantasies across the

ocean reflect desires from my imagination, to lick at the limelight grabbed by the forest

without malice in despair of running roots with ruby eyes lighting candles, mysterious sticks,

flickering casting shadow in shadows and in shadows which they have atoned with wedding

veils never lifted for a final kiss, marching down aisles with a commitment to be broken, casting

moulds of birth living with justice and death….our final kiss.






33 responses to “Mysterious

  1. Pingback: Mysterious- Seeing the whisper – Br Andrew's Muses

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