Dawn tastes like a moments reflection in utopia, the silence embraces my tired mind, the warm rays reach across my cold skin, like hands pulling me close, like love holding me tight in mornings new light. A flicker of time, seconds, minutes, solitude caressing the deep contours of my soul. And the moment is gone, yet for that beat in time, I was whole, I was me, I was free…
In such dreams I lose self between gentle yellow rays of sun falling from the heavens dawns melody imploding as silence explodes and I hear natures orchestra kissing my soul Awake I see only beauty between the devils shadows The perfection of flaws Purity of truth experience of being human Life
Most mornings I watch as Helios wakes, His flames burn brightest at nights end, at days beginning. A beacon of light, of warmth, of beauty, calling the birds to chirp the leaves to glisten petals to unfurl even the silence sings his blessings and my day begins sprinkled in his essence.
Dawn has woken to a wedge of white snow,
Blanketing proudly before my waking eyes
The morning glimmer of crushed diamonds glow,
and birds huddle quietly in empty skies.
Silence rings out in bells of emptiness,
among the stilled monochrome dawning day
the fallen flakes of colds existence
have owned the dark of night through thoughtless play.
In this moment, only I and he exists.
Helios still lays deep within slumber
The skies are heavy, awkward, threatening,
and there, the knitted weave of white, Jack’s number
lays tauntingly snug across window screens
It snowed, wee blankets of love on sleeping cars
so few flakes, laying restless in the dark…
That’s where I want to be. In the center of that flaming heart of warmth. I want the suns embrace, her arms around me holding me tight and blocking out the darkness. I want to turn my back on the world for just a moment, to bathe in her love, for her energy to seep into my life force. I want to feel the flames burning in my blood. I just want the ride to stop whilst I catch up, I want to sleep warm and safe. I want to be in the center of that flaming heart.
The street lights have long gone out and cars whizz across full puddles as clouds continue to drip drop drip drop into over flowing drains
Silence always sounds the same, night could be any day
There’s a rumbling roar and clitter clatter as it starts and stops a white beam of light penetrating the freezing rain as an old staple steps out of the history books milk bottles in hand with foil tops, thick cream and deathly cat stares waiting, wishing, hoping. The silence tastes like the black clouds, heavy and full of apprehension clinging to the muted song of restless sleep. The insomniacs stir, wipe away the sandman and let these empty hours embrace their feeble, screaming hearts. These are the hours of love, with lost walls and sleeping knights, rusted swords and broken arrows, the maid Marian’s of nights trembling caress and only the milkman is brave enough to trespass across their plane of safe harbour…