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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symphony

flecks of pure morning light
accent her coral-red cloud feathers;

when she unfurls her wings,
embracing the leisurely warmth
of a new sky, golden
wingtips touch skylines
at sunrise and sunset.

shimmering like mist
they span horizons;
anxious winds breathe
with every rise and fall;
fledgling storms wake quiet
in spaces between bright feathers
in soft silver pools of shadow.

sprightly lightning she adorns
like ornaments of laughter,
diamond rain, she sprinkles
on this burning land,
she decorates nighttime
in a gown of mauve dreamlight,
she bears on her forehead
in a starry circlet
a new and ancient moon.

T. E. Pyrus

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

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

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