penitence

spilt ink cries onto
scribbled apologies
and crumpled teardrops
that decorate the floor.

the ink-stained clouds
and moonless sky
swallow all the names of hope
that tear the world apart.

T. E. Pyrus

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Wakeful night

When nights are warm
and winds are shy,
When night-owls soar across the sky,

When frantic seas
meet wistful lands,
and salty foam woos changing sands,

When whispers wander
where they will,
and fly o’er curtained windowsill,

When dreamers learn
to love the night,
What is brighter than starlight?

T. E. Pyrus

melting masks

We polish our masks
with the broken pieces
of our starry skies.
When it rains, the paint
runs down their cheeks
like tears, as if masks could feel,
and souls could fall like melting clouds.
When they’re broken, lost,
colours washed into white afternoons,
we scour the sunsets for our names;
by twilight we drown
in oceans of our boundless hope,
breathing like springtime,
bleeding like salt, silver
like your moonlit-mask;
and you, never knowing
how your lonely eyes
hold all the storms that light the skies…

T. E. Pyrus