the wind and the veil

Written in July 2014

The blink of an eye,
The turn of a face,
Perhaps a word,
And the moment is gone…

And I won’t know you anymore
For the years shall veil the treasures:
My memories of you.
And you’ll be gone
Like a cloud across a starry sky
While I try not to wait
For the past years’ golden autumns…
Perhaps I should enjoy the rain,
But tear drops choke my smile….

T. E. Pyrus

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red satin angels

the red satin
maquillage hiding sneers
and intimidated curiosity;
maybe mice were meant
to be wiser
but nature shut her ears
and said, ‘survival to
those who wish
not to know,
those who know
not to wish’;
illusions of everlasting wealth
will kill us all;
unwisdom is bliss
for the dehumanized;
never question
the wise old men;
prehistoric angels
never lie.

T. E. Pyrus

bloodstains and smoke

Written in December 2012.

So here you go again today,
Spending a little more of your life
Planning a perfect murder of your own brothers
In a world where dishonesty is way of life
And justice lives only to be preached of.
In a world where you built walls
Of your own prison of destruction
With bones of all those
You set against their own
And watched from your throne of power
As they tore one another limb for limb

It’s your country, you’ll tell me.
I’ll say, we’re of one blood –
The blood that paints every battlefield
With stories of anger, sorrow and regret;
The blood that stains the name of humanity
From truth, trust and ruth to greed and lie;
The blood that taints your hands from the millions
You led to die while fighting their brother for their day’s bread.

Today, you will ponder over these words.
Tomorrow, again, you will cheer at the slaughter of one another
While I, with wrists shackled by powerlessness
Will watch the last embers of hope
Die into darkness.

All that will remain are
The wisps of smoke
That will stare up from the pages
Of history books to watch
All that may be left of human sanity
Crumble to nothing.

T. E. Pyrus

fuchsia onyx

find me lost
in your half phrases
of delusional fancies:
rationality is an
overpriced asylum
i have escaped;
your lips,
laced with
a burning frenzy
of obsidian bloodlust
reflect my thirst
for boundless dominion;
and you can
find a fiery fashion
with marionette
and fantoccini;
run your fingertips
over my lips
and listen to
words that hide
unspoken in
complaisant coterie;
your impulses feel
like shadow play
in tyrannical onyx;
i hope your lips
taste as crimson
as my thoughts
run wild and
fuchsia.

T. E. Pyrus

fistful of tears

Written in December 2013

The moon adorns her bonnie bride
With veils of wind and rippling lake;
Cold fingertips, blind eyes, sealed shut;
My oath to keep; your word to break.

Pretty people don’t lie, my love;
Murdered hearts don’t feel but pain.
Your eyes saw me a stranger, love,
A stranger never to feel again.

Tears shine where silver letters shone;
Stone memories, lost; ‘neath the tree,
I await you, love, my life in the past
And a fistful of stars for you and for me…

T. E. Pyrus

beautiful forgetfulness

_Written in November 2013_

She stood there quiet,
Beyond the mist
As the wind brushed
The treacle tresses
Off her sunlit snowy face;
Her breathtaking eyes
As dark as midnight
Yet more cheerful than
The early summer sunshine
As it adorns the deep ocean waters
With flecks of golden warmth.
Oblivion blew away the smouldering ashes
And brought the dew drops
To her bare feet to mourn
Then wipe away their tears
Before the pure joy of beautiful forgetfulness.

T. E. Pyrus

of light and shade

(Continuation of story that started on June 28th.)

Part X

“The prisoner has a visitor.” a gruff, disdainful voice filled the room.

It was a considerably huge and spacious hall. Everything seemed to be peacefully asleep in its pale blue luminescence. Little balls of light floated around and settled cosily in the shadows. It was said that these lumena were indoor stars, only wiser.

“Now, now, Earof. There is no need to be rude.” a slender, graceful young faerie clicked her tongue and shook her head with a clear touch of exaggeration, “Reina is our guest, feisty though she might be.”

Earof mumbled under his breath in clear disapproval but said nothing. Indie, with her extraordinary airs and graces seemed to have that effect on most ordinary folks.

But of course, she was far from ordinary.

She sighed and walked thoughtfully towards one of the lumena, running her fingers distractedly through her short, dark and choppy hair. The light reflected wonderfully in her vibrant, midnight blue eyes; the pupils looked strangely beautiful, like they were made of evening glitter.

She gently touched the surface and watched the glow ripple as if it were made of water.

“Elera…” she whispered. The lumena dimmed slightly, then, floated towards a little wooden box placed along the north wall.

Indie picked the box up and opened it carefully: wrapped in a gentle layer of moonshine, there lay a shimmering bracelet with its silver leaf charm quietly reflecting the lumena.

T. E. Pyrus

mirroring the rain

(Continuation of story that started on June 28th.)

Part IX

She sat there by the window and pressed her face against the cold, steamed up glass. Her fingers traced the path of the raindrops as they slithered down towards the window-pane. The sky was her mirror, reflecting her rage, her tears and her eternal dilemma.

But the sunshine would come, wouldn’t it? It had to come sometime. All that was left to do was to watch her tars trickle down the chains around her narrow wrists and mourn in her newfound soul mate, the rain.

The prison of the Faerfolk was not exactly a bad place to be. In fact, other than the fancy chain bracelets, the place was rather comfortable. Someday, she’d find a way to get back to her son. Until then, this was home…

There was a sharp knock on the door.

A young faerie in a dark green uniform walked in, looking rather pleased with himself.

Obnoxious little creature, she thought to herself, amused.

“Madam Reina, you have a visitor. She calls herself Lewy.”

Reina perked up at the sound of the name.

“Bring her in.” her voice sounded sharper than she meant it to.

The young faerie flinched, then gave her a sheepish smile. He walked, rather comically stiff, out the door and a cloaked and hooded young lady brought herself in and gently shut the door behind her.

“Hello, Reina. It has been a while.”

“Your highness.”

T. E. Pyrus

turquoise

times have changed since
only the night and the storm
could quieten the birds’ song;
now the traffic lights blink,
confused by the ways
of the people with
second-hand heartbeats;
their clock tick tocks
steadily towards
an eternal hiatus;
the trees watch over,
wise and senile,
sidelined like all
the sunsets that
far too many
of these broken souls
shrugged off their
jagged shoulders,
never knowing the agony
of those cursed with
involuntary invisibility.
the lights are bright;
our silhouettes might
touch, if only for a moment,
and you can tell me
about your crash landing
into the theatres
of masked apathy;
everybody plays a part
to love or not to love
to find or not to find
a heartful of comfort
in sense and sensibility
in this world of half-hearted
turbulence; let’s dive
down a waterfall;
you can abandon me
halfway to the ocean.

the sunsets may be tangerine
but our blinding souls
shall remain a wintry turquoise.

T. E. Pyrus

a little flower

Written in April 2013

There was a little flower
In a meadow full of bloom.
While the rest fell for the golden sun
She took to the silver moon.

The rain quenched her thirst
And the soils fed her well
And the skies watched her over
Though, if things were wrong, you couldn’t tell.

The lilies turned their backs to her,
The pansies would sneer and glare,
The tulips called her fancy names
And held their noses in the air.

Praying mantises with their fake prayers
Called her a waste of space.
The proud and made up butterflies called her
White adornments a disgrace.

The wind and dust teamed together
And blew into her eyes
While all her “friends” around
Hid their smiles with fake surprise.

But the flower had enough when the moon
Changed his mind, one day,
So, she pulled her roots out, one moonless night
And quietly walked away…

T. E. Pyrus