Shadowplay

Does the lighthouse love
the night upon the ocean
and its subtle stars?

T. E. Pyrus

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When…

darkness dissolves into sunsets,
stars fall through midnight like rain,
flickering streetlamps sleep soundly,
seconds count minutes in vain,

the wind forest’s net catches moonlight,
the sunrise soaks into the land,
oceans are mountains of dewdrops,
mountains are soft breaking sand,

clear winds break clouds into laughter,
the blushing gold autumn is shy,
all of these moons burn like snowstorms,
the wanderer, quiet, tiptoes by.

T. E. Pyrus

embers and silence..,

She skips stones o’er shallow darkness
that ripples ’round her bare ankles.
twilights trace her lorn shoulders and soul,
pale wristlets of sunset that grace her wrists
burn bright, searing like heartbreak,
yet smoulder forever like untiring love;
her eyes, grey like shadow, twinkle with wry mirth
o’er shallow darkness, like faery knights
of new moon, vows of pure sunlight
every dawn; her hair, dear as midnight,
curtains wistful smiles: gentle curve of her frayed lips,
gentle hope that never fully breaks with falling time;
her laughter wakes the melancholic night;
o’re shallow darkness, wishing stars shine bright..,

T. E. Pyrus

only rest,

I wrote this in response to a challenge: Write about what it’s like to live with a mental illness.

is that the music of time,
like the sound of rain
when tired drops that survived the storm
drip placidly from distant treetops,
through hollow darkness that shut-eyes and nighttime bring?
the absurdly enticing stars
fall out of the decorated sky
and shatter like twinkling ice,
like flakes of glass that yearn the stinging blood.
the soil beneath breathes and lives,
the wilting grass that roughly braids your hair
is damp, and slightly warm,
like the empty spaces in memory
where joy and laughter are faded dreams.
drip-drop, tick-tock, suns rise and moons set,
the air embraces the ground here,
don’t try to move your fingertips,
don’t raise your hopes,
don’t close your eyes,
don’t listen as the seconds fall, then melt away,
as if they steal your love and wonder and life,
feel your fingers claw into the soothing wind,
only rest and sink into the loving earth.

T. E. Pyrus

watch-Lamp

Another lamp at the bend towards the revived cathedral,
that one, down this elegant street,
with noble, white apartments on either side,
overflowing floral finery from every windowsill.
he watches over folk who wander by and comforts those who wander lost,
and those with mismatched clothes chasing down some dire fate.

Another cheery day runs past; a week follows with greater haste,
sunlit skies turn into shadow cushions for the lightning storms.
fresh white paint, lost and wanders down the painted top of the holy dome;
fresh wilted red petunia and thriving leaves quaver and glow
like fairy-lights and missing stars;
a child in drowned and heavy rags wanders in the darkened rain
parched for food and warmth and home.

Lamp wonders in puzzlement that on this bright, delightful night
pain still crushes loving souls, and sorrow takes their heart away,
and how they carry hopes along, veiling flaws from blinding light,
how they still know to love, and how laughter bubbles up inside;
the asphalt mirroring his shine is the darkest he has ever seen.

T. E. Pyrus

ocean dream

The shadow that hides behind me
from the glaring sunset, red,
claws into the dry, salty sand
when I stretch my arms restfully.

If I close my eyes,
I almost hear the crashing waves
behind me in the absent sea
nearly break this endless dream.

The shadow beckons my sandy feet
towards the calm, retreating tide,
enchanting me, enticing me
to walk with in the growing shade.

And sand, darker and water-marked
bewitches me like fragrant rain,
as if this fine and flying dust,
heedless bursts of absent flame

were really howling frantic winds
spiced with stinging snowflakes, cold,
rattling, curtained window-panes,
and homeless snowmen by the door.

I’ll shadow Shade, my lantern flame,
and seek dry bones of angelfish
that mark the sand like outcast waves
to lead me to my ocean dream.

There, I see the perfect moon
rippling in my ocean, pale,
and cry dry tears of ecstasy;
Shade, do come and drink with me,
this phantom water is heavenly.

T. E. Pyrus

candle

shadow play on the ceiling
reminds me of the sound
of your intoxicating voice.
there’s not a soul around

to watch you blue and golden
when you gaze into my eyes
and each tear drop warm burning
through my fingertips and lies

that i heard you whisper
through thunderstorm that night,
and here i wait listening
and hoping that i might

await you, moonless, in
the silence-swallowed dark.
your footsteps in the autumn
with every little spark

in the woods, long forgotten-
easy wind and downy flake
and harness bells now silent
between woods and golden lake

and in unforgiving darkness
i met my phantom green,
then never again, in daylight
were our heartbeats seen.

T. E. Pyrus