if you could
create water,
drop by drop
until the oceans
and coral and
silver angelfish
conquered all
the land;
see the world
like a quavering
raindrop, still
in time,
you know, sometimes
you need the
to break you
when you fall;
and when you
flow into the
crevices by the
side walk, leaving
wistful oily
rainbows that
smile sorrowful
forevers at your
receding shoulders
into the distance;
and then you
forget to breathe
when you drown
into the night,
you’re too human
to be free, you
are too human
to be bright;
then you wait
in the shadows,
dry your eyes
from the rain,
you find that
you misspelt elation

T. E. Pyrus



paint me a picture
of white acropolis
winding black ivy
pen sketched
in the night,
the afternoon glaze
and the mid-morning
haze intertwined
with the dusky
frame right
in heart of
the winter
north woods
and the scent
of the green
lady forest
in marble
all bent into
faceless white
spirit, spy right
through you, dreamer,
see the lingering
hopes that haunt
your left shoulder,
that haunted
your eyes, so you
cast them away
and brought in
your dark curtained
chamber, and day
after day you
sketched tears on
her face,
sketched tears
washed them clean
and the white
salted angel’s
green eyes were
not seen anymore.

T. E. Pyrus