When Life Gives You Lemons

11:28pm: The Wordful War
Aureate craft spilling from the gilded tongues
of frenzied clergymen, deeply besotted
in the orgasmic tempo of lyrical laudanum--
That is a wordful war to fight.

Heralds of blunt comprehension trumpeted
by pious worshippers, lured impulsively
to the sinful beckonings of artistic murmurs--
That is a wordful war to flee.

Vehement portents roaring of evil's lustration
from demented masses, trapped in naked lust
for the astral verse of poetic fervour--
That is a wordful war to fear.
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1:41am: I Remember
Outside, night has fallen, blanketing the room in a dark haze. The room is lit gently in a pale glow by the solitary candle sitting atop the windowsill. The candle is anchored only by the wax of her own making, her flames flickering resolutely. The wind licks by, causing the curtains to billow, taunting the candle, threatening to knock her over and spill the flames.

She stands strong, knowing that if she should fall, she would take the house with her. But then comes forth a howling wind that throws the curtains in a frenzy, snapping the candle from her place. As she begins to fall, her last thought is to set her flames out. For though these flames are her pride, she would have her room darkened, before she were to have it fall with her.
.

8:09am: Frozen in Silence
Mother was weeping, but I knew not why:
Perhaps she had watched as the sun left the sky?
In the darkness, the moon was lonely and fair,
And it silently cried, in the frigid night air.

I knew, in the halls, she sometimes would pace;
I saw, in the pale glow, that tears stained her face --
The sepia shot of a man she would clutch;
He always was silently laughing too much.

He'd left on the brink of the November night;
She, lonely and fair, had despaired at his flight.
So through the fierce winter, the winds were all hushed;
He'd meant all she was, and now her he had crushed.

But if Father had fled, left us only his name,
Would the Father above be nearly the same?

(brought over from ahsirakh)
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5:41pm: Crumbling Sands
I watch as the child runs along the beach,
Picking a suitable place to build his paradise,
The paradise in his hopes and dreams.
He leaves light footprints behind in the sand
As he forges ahead, to build a future
And a paradise.
He settles and begins to build,
Whistling softly as the sand starts to shape.
He spends an hour, or two,
Maybe more, for who knew
When only the paradise mattered?
And when it was finally done,
And the melody picked a sweeter tune,
I saw his mother approach.

He is reluctant, digging his feet in the sand
As she pulled him away.
The singing stopped, replaced with gentle weeping,
The tears mattering more than all the water before him.
But the mother picked up the child and carried him away.

And as I watched, the waves grew higher,
And dissolved the paradise
As though it were but sand
Shaped in the hands of a boy,
Who made it matter to him more than anything else.
And as I watched, the love was washed away,
Washed into the dark depths of the sea,
Never to be known again.
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