Poetry @ languidnights

flickering

scent of cinnamon

a murmer of heat

shadows wax and wane

breathe deep

and enjoy

Day of the Dead

when the veil

between the mortal

and afterlife

blur

spirits of the lost

visit the living

but there's a secret

any who've lost tell

--

the lost visit

any day

if you just desire

to remember

I saw them

shades, in the distance

as we stood

by my lady, the sedan

she and I

we had a pact

and the shades

would not have me

later, when she was gone

I drove by

those self-same shades

and the ride home

was shadows and dread

pacts and …

the crack of thunder

the dark sky alight

with nature's fire-starter

the wind, a chill

the bones shake

fear? nae

this is life

missing

one of many

is europe the lesser

or would lesser it be

to deny thirty

for lack of thirty-one

in vino veritas

in wine, truth

also, in anger

or lust

or any other

filter short-circuit

tells you what

your interlocutor

actually thinks

as fingers chilled

by the winter's bitter breeze

I sit down to write

So much undone

by hands not idle

full of their own make

tasks pile

each added

knowing those beneath

I cannot care

for the mess

until I must

and get suffocated

by my own design

so much undone

Wind howls

as rain beats down

from a darkened sky

thunder cracks

from lightning flash

and power dies

I am brought peace