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

lace

Pine trees that lace the ridges
of snowblest mountaintops
lean against the darkened moon,
like storms that lean on precious earth
with open arms towards the sky;
lightning touches myriad stars
that wander through unbroken songs
and quietly fill hollow dawns…

T. E. Pyrus

What secrets…

What secrets linger, hovering
over the silver mirror lake?
What secrets drown in ripples
when leafless boughs
bow towards the underwater sky?
What secrets echo
beneath the mirror, and gaze up
as stillness waits, still?
What secrets bring storms
when forever lake trembles
and thunder drowns forever skies?

T. E. Pyrus