All articles filed in Poetry
A Bumblebee’s Faith
When the bumblebee dies, the day is the most beautiful it has ever seen. The world above has never been so blue, so clear and lulling, and the trees have never smelled so sickeningly sweet. The bumblebee once thought that trees were like the promise…
Read MoreSonnet #3: An Empty Playground Strewn with Fallen Leaves
An empty playground strewn with fallen leaves,So vacant, phantom children run with glee.In ages past we once were in that breeze,Two girls, they hid and sought, laughing with trees.Black hairs and eyes so youthly, beautiful—Do we still bear the same resemblance now?Well time has passed, yet bonds aren’t moveable,We’ll always be best friends, no why…
Read MoreSonnet #4: She is a Butcher, Not of Animals
Sonnet #4: She is a butcher, not of animals She is a butcher, not of animals,Of names and dreams and all that comes between.A blade she holds, it is implacable, It yearns for more and weeps for all it’s seen.She butchers her bird’s wings and holds them fast,She cuts away the muscles and the fat. Her tears…
Read MoreSonnet #2
Sonnet #2: A Hero—I Heard You Were Searching For A hero— I heard you were searching for,Someone of shining armor and pure heart,No tainted soul, you needed someone more,With hopeful eyes that damned you from the start.I shan’t be cruel and tell you that I knowWho you are seeking, nor what you should find.Once long…
Read MoreWinter’s Promise
Present. Past. Future.These are three beings I know.Intangible and impalpable peoplewho nevertheless walk with mein the snow. Present and Future leave nofootprints for the eye,and you would not even know they were there,if Present’s boots did not crunch with a sigh. Past indents the white fieldwith tracks that are faint and true,left with flowers springing,yet…
Read MoreWarm Child
Three deer statues,side by side,once so golden and smooth.To the farthest left and right,the two are hugein comparison to the fawn snuggled in between. Sightless eyes andscentless nosesyou would think make for poor sketchesof the world revolving.But it is not so,for the deer see more than you and I.A world not meant for thee and me.…
Read MoreBeloved Soul
I do not live alone. The man that shares the house with me under this roof is a peculiar one, though. I call him Amias, a name of latin origin meaning “beloved”. I don’t know his real name. He will never tell me. So to me,…
Read MoreThe Birds are Poets
Deep in the woods, beyond my reach I know certain birds reside. They call my name in morningsong, mourning my inability to reach where they must be found. Come to me instead, I reply, wishing fervently for a path… A path in the woods where I would not be lost to the seductions of the…
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