Remembrance
A dusty pathway, brick-laid, unused, leads into empty corridors
That wind inside a stocky building, with windows shuttered and closed doors
Evergreen grass sways gently as the wind rustles through its undisturbed blades
It’s a strange and liminal environment, unsuited to this silence, that rings and rings and doesn’t fade
It thrums in anticipation, and waits for the pitter-patter of feet to begin again;
To listen to the squeak of a marker against the whiteboards, to the silence wane
The twinkling laughter of children, returning to the days that were.
In A Dream
In a blissful, fitful sleep, I had once
A dream, so real yet fake
A house, no a blazing inferno, in the middle of a blizzard land
I stood there, alone, not lost, and longed for a friendly hand
The ice pelted down from the heavens above, spiteful
And the fire raged on inside that house, blazing and contorting
I splayed out my gloved fingers against its burning walls,
And I watched, stone faced, as the fire raged on through the halls
The land outside the window was white and barren
Save the footsteps, that printed themselves on the snow
Frost encased the cracked, yellowing glass, slowly, bit by bit
It crept up my hands, and the fire inside did nothing to quell it.
Nebulous
The stars are dim and hazy tonight,
A little nebulous, if I may say
The lazy wind that blows so light
Leads the mountain mist astray
The city below dimly twinkles
Just as foggy as the stars
I can see them, just barely, through the night’s wrinkles
Like a prisoner, through their bars
The rooftop I sit on is cold and moist
As the droplets begin collecting
I picture myself, the pinnacle of grace and poise
With my hands on my lap, wringing and complecting
The moon is nigh invisible
Hidden beyond tonight’s foggy clouds
It attempts to show, a task quite unfeasible
And in the distance, somewhere, a raven shouts.
Time To Spare
It has been a while, since I’ve had the chance
To indulge in all those little whims of mine
That so often pop up
But back when the world ran
As if there were no tomorrow
I found that not a moment could be wasted
On all my little fancies
Now, when the world has quietened down
And I have found myself with hours
And hours to spend
On all that I would like to spend them on
I have discovered
That the ink flows freely
As long as I give it the time to do so.
Secret Garden
Secret garden, blooming bright, walk me through the
Greens and blues, the fluttering, flittering wings among
Leaves and petals, and over barks that gnarl and slither
The vines that creep like viridian snakes and wisteria ropes
Secret garden, calm and quiet, let me rest and
Come to stop, among the fragrant, lilting shrubs
Those soft blades, that curling moss,
The dirt from whence life is born,
From whence it sprouts and curls back up.