still life?

The water painted violets beside
the light grey rock and little stream
that worried past their faded fragrant lines
watch over silent corridors.
Sometimes footsteps shuffle by
without a word.
Only keen and careful gazes
fall for ancient things:
some by precious people,
some that watch through clear glass doors
at strangers from far future years,
modeled bones that stretch their lifeless joints
and yawn softly like thin air
when glaring, warming lights go dark
and no footsteps cross seven o’clock.
the porcelain milkmaid and her toddling son
call upon brass aunt queen of heaven and her loved tigress.
Fine china from the royalty four and fifty decades fresh
and indigo blossoms that lace prim cups of tea
and bowls of sweet punch at white weddings,
ballrooms with sky high ceilings,
painted glass windows
that burst into bloom
in midsummer sun.
Stuffed birds and labelled butterflies
flutter around to tunes of drawn and clashing foreign swords,
scimitar for the horsemen,
Bow and arrow for fort walls,
and flutes of bone, drums of skin
to light old silver candelabras
for haunting lamp-less wanderers’ nights.
Scrolls of parchment of fine hand,
crisp and inked in awe and mystery
of songs of love to moon and suns,
great skies, unseen, and timeless stars…

T. E. Pyrus

Blossom
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The House Next Door

Shadow called on the house next door
by wilted lilies on the garden floor
and rueful, pale daylight.

The doorbell watches the front door swing
and quietly welcomes anything
but Shadow past its sight.

Footsteps panic to and fro
with all to wait and none to know
‘neath haunted clouds, so white.

Lace hankies, frail and foreigner
in trembling fingers; faces blur
foretelling woeful plight.

A splendid dusk arises there
and stifled mourning fills the air,
breaking fine polite.

Shadow left with stunning grace,
left voiceless voice and faceless face
in memories’ fading light.

Mourners, dark with clouded mind:
with love in hearts, they left behind
Shadow’s sweet invite.

Shadow called on the house next door.
There’s none to call on anymore
but empty souls tonight.

T. E. Pyrus

Painting Memories

tumblr_odbri9a0ak1sufel9o1_500

I’ve seen the fiercely joyful constellations in your eyes,
Bright with wonder of the wandering starlight in the skies…

When you forget the fleeting moments in our golden autumn light
With your dreams that lay beside me in the quiet and starry night,

I’ll string our breezy laughter, twinkling crystal-still like stone,
We’ll watch sunsets paint the sea while I build sandcastles alone.

We’ll build that summer cottage, not too near the salty shore
And greet that snowman who’ll await you every christmas at our door.

I’ll fill my nights with legends ere I lose our mortal lie,
So we’ll live again in tales ‘neath the ever-starry sky.

T. E. Pyrus

[Featured image is the artwork of batensan. All rights belong to the artist.]
P.S. Thank you, batensan, for letting me borrow your art!

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
laughter.

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

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

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

cold blood

i’ll build us a castle of glass, my love.
painting on the wall of you with him,
in wedding white and painted clouds in the sky
i’ll treasure you forever.

I walked gentle down the aisle,
my footsteps follow yours for
every minute that you lived,
flowers in my hair.

why, don’t you look polite now…
i loved you when we swung our toes
a hundred feet above the icy
forevers of the ocean.

you looked peaceful when you
floated up, white under clouds,
your lips dark scarlet than ever before
your cold white heart, now frozen.

T. E. Pyrus

staircase to heaven

tearing
through pain,
his voice dissolved
like thunder in the rain.
come, sunset, like angel wings;
the lightning burns each word i speak.
memories on each bookshelf and window sill
and refrigerator door: i live in darkness’ glittering
armoury, like shining raindrops, silver on my sorrow,
tearing at my lungs; let me breathe again! take him high
above the rainbow! hurricane of heartfelt memories, dissolve to
bitterness in solitary life, with every footstep to sinful midnight and
back. take him where the gentle wind and build a castle high of golden clouds.

T. E. Pyrus

frosty

how’s it going
on your side
of perspective?
i hear that
new flowers
blink sleepily,
blinded by
melting sunshine
on snow studded
meadows and
the breeze;
while silver
white winters
now burst into
springs, you
will look to
your right,
blink an odd
seven times
as you swallow
your love for
the wintry
snowman who
waited and wept
in your backyard
as you flurried
right by him
each morning,
shuffled back
without a glance,
left him in
the cold with
bitter kindness,
you grow up to
soon to worry
about sentiment,
too late to
hurry time;
why don’t you
lay back on
your new faded
red cushioned
seat by the
cold, sneering
fire ’til
snowflakes bring
wake at
your window at
night, you walk
to the starlight
and the leaves
hide your
faded red blush
on your cheeks
from the cold,
the snowflakes,
they come, kiss
your nose and
eyelashes, your
heartbeat, so
you never grow
old.

T. E. Pyrus