prelude

The air is full
of greyed birds
and quiet leaves.

Soft chimney-smoke
over red roofs
stands dark and still.

Our crumbling earth
makes home for pools
of rippling sky.

These restless winds
hide, trembling, tense,
within tall trees.

Lightning startles
nightstained clouds;
white winds sing.

Clear rain rings
in shivered hymns
of a perfect storm.

T. E. Pyrus

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beyond

beyond a sun-warmed parapet

with a dot-eyed wondering smile
fingerpainted in storm-lit dust,

purple bougainvillea spill into a fresh grey sky,
fluttering in sweet lightning wind
like painted wings of a sunbird.

T. E. Pyrus

agony

thunder echoes softly like an offset heartbeat
as a storm gasps for breath in between
greying treetops, trembling like senility,
raging like broken white lightning
over prim, painted homes,
arching, groveling, begging, pleading
for hollow recognition
through these crooked curtains;
i watch silent candlelight
reflect in cold window glass
and softened stillness.

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

trace

when lightning cracks across the skies
like cold and broken window glass,
who peeks through curtains of white rain?
who listens for spare hopes and sighs?

when hues of red stir empty skies
and bright stars draw the curtains wide,
who watches through cold, empty glass?
who listens for spare hopes and sighs?

when twilight charms wide starry skies
and fireplace glows safe and bright,
who loves the rabbit on the moon?
who sings clear haunting lullabies?

T. E. Pyrus

brighter times

candlelight dances on the old silver pendulum clock.

lightning rips dark lilac clouds
like headlines rip the front page
of the dusty newspaper from brighter times.

the pendulum lights and shadows printed names
in bold and black, and a photograph of smiles,
eleven- twelve- thirteen times-

’til thunder cracks through counting wind
like the cold, brass lock and key
that locked away those brighter times.

T. E. Pyrus

Daily Prompt: Paper

Stormwind Castle

Rays of sunshine shuffle in
through lone and dusty corridors
and spill over stone windowsills
in the Stormwind castle.

The green glass bottle twinkles bright
with raindrops’ summer lightning dance
where weathered staircases of stone
break into grassy forest.

Wheels and white mares clatter down
the road not taken, ’round the hill
with velvet, flutes, and princesses
who dream of moon fall music.

Stormwind wanders softly through
sun-crushed walls and doorless rooms
then to Thunder’s heartbeat sings
upon the nightstorm tower.

T. E. Pyrus

Daily Prompt: Bottle