ectoplasmic love

Hear me, folks of love and loss,
of heartbreak and of pain,
as I watch you from my window,
when you’re dancing in the rain.

I have tiptoed in your footsteps
through midnight and through snow.
I whispered in your shadows, hoped
you’d hear but never know.

Yet, I never bridged the river
of my sorry flood of tears,
and wrote poetry in silence
of your silhouette for years.

Hear me, dancing angel,
in your yellow rain boots bright,
while I melt into the gray-scale
of this ectoplasmic night.

T. E. Pyrus


the words i left hanging
in the wind in the willows
that golden afternoon
haunt me at night.

my trembling fingers
stay frozen, rebelling
to wait, wait for yours
that never looked to reach.

eyes that painted beauty
in every feature of your face,
the bend of your fingers,
the mind full of florid dreams.

come, won’t you look my way?
my unsaid words saturate
the silence that remains
between you and me.

T. E. Pyrus


i believe in magic.
i believe that dewdrop pearls
on spider web necklaces
make the world go ’round;
and every ray of waking light
in between the stars tonight
blessed with night owls’ song
brings dreams to sleepless souls
and hope to those whose
tears run like little streams
reflecting the morning,
born quiet from its cocoon
of purple darkness;
i believe in waking sleep
when light and shadow
play in between the curtains
at dawn, and coffee and
the painting on the wall
of beauty and childlike joy;
i believe in laughter
when you step out the door
and it spills onto the side walk,
down the street, replacing
mundane with imagination;
i believe in silence and afternoons,
the birds that lose their way
in the warm winds,
travelling across blue skies
like the quiet before a storm;
i believe in sunsets that sprinkle
hope in the eyes of
young forlorn lovers,
intertwined fingers,
memory in minds
of those who feel heartbeats
and heartbeats before
they fade to a dull,
aching memory of
heartbroken love,
home in the hearts
of travellers who fade
like ghosts into the dusk;
i believe in storms
that light the evening
in magenta and fairy lights
that burn into the skin
of the sky: the hour for tears
that melt from souls
of wrinkles and comforting smiles,
the cool drops that sting in the wind
and fuse into hope,
a wistful joy of crushing
bitterness in your fingers
right before it takes over your soul;
i believe in stars,
a billion burning lights
in the sky that twinkle
like slow, breathless passion
that paints instinct
over thought, ecstasy
in her fingers in my hair,
and no one to care for
seconds that countdown to silence;
i believe in midnight,
the quiet, ticking clock
and cinderella’s hurried
footsteps down the staircase,
fingertips that almost don’t touch,
eyes that whisper in silence;
i believe in words, silent love,
i believe in magic.

T. E. Pyrus

the haunt

tiptoe down the aisle
between the marbles white,
swallow down your heart,
stay soundless in the night.

finger tips that graze
fine letters carved in stone
cold pulse that lives within
cold heart that lives alone.

trample over fears
of life beyond all death.
troublesome it sounds,
your quick and restless breath.

the moon decides to hide
your voice where silence reigns.
footsteps that trail behind
echo down the plains.

your eyes refuse to close
with shivers down your spine.
your trembling knees now yield,
your courage in decline.

the marble stones glow white,
see my darkened silhouette
what you witness tonight,
you shall never forget.

T. E. Pyrus

cupid’s crayons

i heard you singing in my sleep,
that distant ringing that brings
yellow to the crayon drawing
of the sun. the little red barn
and the river running by,
the sunset and the morning that
brighten up the sky.

with your burning beauty
like cupid and death
that leaves my stumbling,
bleeding like tears
and nobody hears your
restless fingertips on the glass.

look through the mirror,
and maybe you’ll see
what i see in in your

when you look at me,
love, do you see me blinded by
my sorry tears, this apology of
a side character in my own life?

see me helpless as i gaze
at your receding shoulders
into the distance, down the road
less taken?

do you see my
breath running wild across
meadows that envelope forevers
when i wait at the crossroads
of heartbreak and desperation?

i’ll walk a million miles through
sand and snow, and all i want you
to know is i’ll remember
each phrase you flung
my way in your act of
wistful apathy.

when you
watch every sunset with
your golden eyes brighter
than the sun, full of thought
and sophisticated emotion,
not a drop for me,
and walk away with your
victory, and announce your
cursed sentence: heartbroken for evermore.

now while i walk from door to door
for make-up to cover my tears,
nail-paint to cover my bloodstained
fingers that claw at my heart in my throat.
unmoved, you shall walk away,
once you kill me with
your gentle smile.

spontaneous combustion is an art.

T. E. Pyrus

storm angel

like lightning slices midnight skies
your voice lulls me to death,
my heartbeat tripping
over desperation of my lies
that stole my final breath
my fingers slipping

off your dark enchanting soul.
your whispered strings of gold
weave your dark eyes
like a diamond in the coal.
i watched your fingers unfold
those lullabies

into a poet’s song, night’s disguise.
we smouldered through the stormy sky above
where we belong,
and while we plunged into darkened skies
there you snuffed me with your love,
your rainy song.

T. E. Pyrus

starlight song

in sixteen dreams i saw your words
morph into a silent song,
and fifteen second glances led
them back to right where we belong.

in fourteen paper planes i flew
my heart to you with hope and fear,
and thirteen pieces of my broken
soul told me that love was near.

in twelve rays of brilliant light
that mirrored off your splendid eyes
eleven thoughts like burning birds
flew graceful across darkened skies.

with ten whispered words you told me,
“wait and watch the fire bright!”
and nine whole minutes crumbled
in the fingertips of dancing light.

eight fiery pieces of your
broken heart you gave to me.
seven sang a song of loss
to blue jays on the hanging tree.

six and there was none but
you and i in time and space.
five whole minutes, “wait,” you said,
then let our fingers burn like lace.

in four dark nights we burnt to life,
we burnt to death ’til we were free.
three star lights, they led the way
to for evermore for you and me.

thus, two lost souls united here and
sparked the flame of freedom bright
and one charred flake of stardust floated
smouldering into the night.

T. E. Pyrus

The Picture

The picture on the wall stared down at her ominously. It was a painting of a young girl in yellow of perhaps nine or ten, sitting beside a table with three single red roses in a ceramic vase.

The rain poured down in sheets outside the window. She hated the rain. It was gloomy and cold and wet. Why would anyone want to splash around in those muddy puddles with yellow rain boots?

Yellow: The colour of suffocated laughter, artificial joy, sarcastic beauty. She detested its honesty. She detested yellow.

“Sophie!” called a voice outside the parlour door, “Come downstairs at once! The gentlemen will be here any minute.”

The gentlemen were her fiancé’s family. They were an obnoxious bunch. They were proud since they had sat on their own plot of land longer than any of the other families in their part of the town.

Sophie stood up reluctantly and straightened her mourning dress. Her fiancé had been murdered three days ago in the early hours of dawn, or so they said. He was strangled in his sleep before he could scream.

Sophie had confined herself to the upstairs parlour ever since. She took her time and straightened her hair and fixed her necklace, then descended the staircase, carefully running her finger over the dark wood railing.

“Sophie!” her mother called again. This time she responded by announcing herself into the living room, her eyes brimming with tears she was holding back.

The gentlemen arrived in time. There was a quick and silent exchange of greeting. All that could be heard were whispered heartfelt condolences. The question of the murder was left hanging beside the chandelier. No one spoke of it.

Sophie quickly greeted the guests, blinking almost continuously to hold back her tears. They shuffled outside into the snowy morning towards the church where the funeral was to be held. Friends and family waited in silence around the coffin.

The ceremony began and ended. When everyone was still, not knowing whether to cry or to leave, Sophie stepped out of the crowd and placed a red rose on the coffin. She whispered something quietly.

Once the crowd cleared away, Sophie returned to her sanctuary of the upstairs parlour and sipped a cup of tea to soothe her nerves.

The picture on the wall stared down at her. Dressed in yellow, the girl of nine or ten sat beside a ceramic vase with two single red roses.

She said to herself, “One down. Two more to go.”

The girl in the picture mouthed the words with her.

T. E. Pyrus

a soldier’s chant

we march to the rhythm of artillery:
clockwork men don’t tire.
we trample over vain empathy,
and hail death in the line of fire.

we shoot to the rhythm of our last heartbeats,
drop shells to burn and break.
we trample over love and joy
for life is ours to take.

we fall to the rhythm of our marching feet
we, killers of another name,
we trample over pride of returning home,
for guilt is a treacherous game.

T. E. Pyrus

stardust storm

the stars fell out of the sky
onto the pavement before my eyes
and i looked up to see the lightning
winking at the clouds in the sky.

and then i lay down on a green patch of grass:
my sanctuary from this world of honest apathy,
pathetic honesty, and camped out in my sarcasm.

then the rain poured down on the pitch darkness again,
like shooting stars, and my dear asphalt
twinkled like sunset glittering in
windy, warm autumn days.

wintry winds come quiet
and paint the mountains white
to calm the bleeding autumn and welcome stormy skies,
and the frosty snowflakes spelled your name.

i built me an army of sunset clouds,
my storm in disguise;
let me conquer that faraway look in your eyes
while you dream.

i walked to forever, asked infinity for your whereabouts
and the guardian of heaven
led me to your castle of clouds, your home.

and when i decided to waltz down the staircase
to green earth and flowers in the rain,
you came to me again.

and took me by the arm and asked me
if i loved the rainbows beyond the moon
and clouds so high.

i said, nay, for i loved the purple past sunsets,
the blush beneath your eyes at daybreak
for evermore dancing;

i loved each cloud on your brow,
each star that twinkled in your eyes,
and all your stormy lies,

and every truth you told reflected my soul
in a million shades of hesitant excitement
before your storm.

when evening brushed your air
with stars like glitter everywhere,
i loved your dark wings like clouds;

and when you floated by with
the moon on your wing,
i loved your silver sins.

and when i could join
the constellations on your palms,
you loved me a little,

or so i thought before i learned
that the darkness would burn
into light.

stardust is the only crooked truth
in this revolving world of empty lies.

you and i shall spin forever
in this universe of silent void.

you and i are made of
sixteen billion year old stardust.

the sun said you’re pretty,
the moon stole your heart.

all rippling like stars in the sea,
come home.

and when all the world is falling apart.

come, my storm, for one last minute.

before we die into last dust

let’s smoulder for another forever.

then we shall wait

until all life

is quiet,


T. E. Pyrus