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

more..,

how many salty waves must crash
upon the rocky ocean side
until it crumbles into sand
and, by moonlight, travels wide?

how many moons must cross the sky
’til palm trees by the ocean fall
into its ever-patient waves
that restless, craving, leaping, call?

how many constellations change
before all heartbeats, thoughts and sighs
blend into pale ocean salt
to live once more beneath new skies?

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

Limits

One day, I will be blind.

I’ll while away my worries
by the fire that’s warm
and crackling, dark; reminiscing tuesdays
and my little red winter boots
that left those footsteps in the snow.
Sometimes, I’ll forget how it felt
to wake to daylight.

I’ll wander into afternoons,
slow and savouring each footfall,
the wafting wind of dry leaves
as they crunch beneath my feet,
probably brown and gold, and
maybe the sun felt warmer
when the sky was blue.

I’ll stir a bright orchestra
of clouds of oranges and pinks
in my mind, and wonder exactly
how green the blades of grass
crushed between my fingers are,
and how many melancholic days
one can live on limited sunsets.

I’ll taste the winds for singing rain
or strong impending storms with thunder
and no lightning to wreck this woeful
soul of sorrow and drench in tears
this heartless heart and cool
this wilful mind of vanity
that will always chase the past.

I’ll lie upon comforting sands
by seas I once gazed upon in awe,
like timeless heartbeat, crashing waves
and salt in the damp breeze, rolling tides
and the moon that’s long said goodnight
once for all; stars and stars, and falling stars
that burn and fade like loving smiles.

One day, I will be blind.

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

teacup

my cup of tea has
a tiny purple flower
painted delicate on china.
the worn out golden rim
glows graceful in the sunset,
rippling in the wind.
my elbows feel cold on the
rusted steel railing,
the faded green paint peeling off;
my fingers feel warm.
the salty blue taste of
the ocean before me
spreads into forever,
singing her melancholy
song of wind like a chant
long forgotten, but never lost.
the clouds in my teacup,
they dream about you, my dear storm.

T. E. Pyrus