quiet fills the spaces left behind as the setting sun has spent its final glory for the day.
the world waits and eyes are closed against the absence of light that encompasses all.
ships rock easily in the harbour, the water depthless in its blackness.
the village streets barren in the moonlight that casts a misty silver curtain.

it is the witches hour that silently approaches.
midnight is theirs, the newly blackened skies simmer the darkness that cradles their magic.
they haunt the hour that rests in the shadows as the hands of the clock reach for the heavens.
the night air as cold as their words that fall in whispers over their cauldrons.

the devil plays in the coal black hour that slides into being as the witches take their leave.
the clock strikes three and she dances brazenly in her hour of seduction, enticing the minds of her lovers in their slumber.
beckoning their hearts to fall into her embrace, her gossamer wings fold and envelope tightly.

the hour of lost souls calls to its tribe; they answer with surrender.
four am is the beautiful torment of time reserved for those who wander, ever meandering.
it awakens those who most desperately seek the promised solace of sleep, their rest denied.
it is a hushed reverence of secrets hidden in graves too shallow to ever find peace.

the shifting shapes transform, change, grow.
creeping away, begrudgingly, as the night begins its slow transformation into the light.
stirrings appear at the edges of awareness. the darkness releases its grip reluctantly,
the shadows that will lurk in the sunlight, its delicate promise of return.

I say that I’m not creative,

that I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.

I assure you, when you say I must be wrong,

that my hands hold no gifts of artistry.

No paintings or drawings spring forth from my fingertips.

A crudely scribbled stick person is the extent of my skill,

and even those, I don’t do very well at all to be honest.

 

But oh my, you should see the webs that I weave.

The beautiful mirages that I craft,

the masks that I sculpt – and wear with such conviction.

Wonders of illusion, they are creations to behold, I tell you.

So perfectly honed and presented

that there are times that even I am fooled

by what I see in the mirror, reflected back at me.

i want you to read with your eyes closed.

i want your senses to play musical chairs and have sight be the one left standing, walking away alone when the music stops.

allow the letters and syllables and lines on the pages to be nonsensical to you as they are felt and not merely seen.

let your fingertips dance over the smoothness of the words, barely caressing them as you pull them in closer to you.

grip them harshly, devour them and savour them.

decimate them with your lust for what they harbour.

feel how they squirm under the intensity of your scrutiny and discovery.

revel in that feeling.

i want you to see the words with the depth of so much more than simple,deceptive sight.

feel the words, don’t interpret them with intellect.

taste the bitterness of them rise up in your throat as you try to swallow them down and make them disappear when they’re too much.

bask in the discomfort they show you as they rip away where you hide.

be terrified of their depth, and their height, and leap into them anyways.

relish the sweetness of them as your tongue embraces their offerings to your soul.

watch goosebumps appear on your flesh as their libidinous morsels send shivers down your spine.

i want you to be deafened by the pounding of your heartbeat as the words make you want to turn and run, uncertain if you want to leave them behind you or cleave to them and hold on for dear life.

i want anger and beauty and pain and brilliance to course through your veins.

ink, the blood of your syllabic circulatory system.

words,

they seduce me.

drawing me in and twirling me around them as if they were my lover.

their seduction, burrowing within my mind, is slow and tentative at first.

it comes at times inappropriate and often inconvenient,

but they don’t care.

tendrils of thoughts dangled just out of my reach, daring me,

they tease and taunt my desires, I yearn to grasp them,

haunting and evocative they are to my senses.

words, phrases even at times, that dance across the stage of my mind.

alluring, deceptively innocent looking they appear at first.

some have given up the pretense and offer instead the raw lust of need.

they are embers,

thinly veiled ,hiding the promise of their flames that will consume me.

words that I let roll over my tongue, spoken silently deep inside of me.

I taste them, I savour their substance and their texture in my mouth and my soul.

words that envelope my being as I surrender to their embrace of my dreams.

they give life to my darkness,

they allow my light to break free of the shadows,

even if only inside my own mind,

in my own voice.

words that speak in whispers or in screams of rage.

words murmured in passion and desire as the trysts of my fantasies are given shape.

they create wells of sadness impossibly deep to ever claw out of.

they are the words that encapsulate joys beyond what a heart can even imagine.

words that are so heavy you can feel their weight,

crushing and demanding.

words that lift me up and let me fly and see me gently tumble and turn as I fall,

laughing with the insanity of it all.

words that are so visceral and disgusting.

and so unfathomably beautiful that they don’t exist to our ears,

only in our minds do we find them.

I hold tightly to them once found,

treasure and cherished.

they seduce me.

words.

  • a revision of an earlier expression of mine

 

I am

 

she tears at me from my depths

searing me

the rawness of her scares me at times

her force expansive and full

all at once a part of me and yet all of me

she gnaws and clamors,

seeking, hunting for a way out,

demanding release,

freedom.

never to escape.

never to be gone.

her savageness is my self.

her primal ferocity is mine – is me.

she hungers for indulgence,

her restlessness simmers

her right to be acknowledged met,

welcomed…

born by pain, blood, rage, howls and screams,

born by softness, solitude, silence and love.

her screams no longer silent.

my eyes shine with Her light ,set free to luminesce

my heart beats, as it always has, with our strength, now  feeling it

embracing it,

in the purest sense, knowing it.

aware of coming home to my self.

her and I, one now, we weep and rage and laugh and are

expressed and celebrated

found, brought forth, joined and embraced

 

I am

she is

we are

complete in our fractured pieces

perfect in our imperfection

beautiful in our brokenness

I am her as she is me

we are

 

I am

an angel,                                                                                                                                                                                  in her flight, fell.

 a demon,
 in her chaos, rose.
 one was called Lightness
 and
 one was called Torment.
 they collided, the fabric of their Selves
 woven, intermingled,
 as they felt,
 their discord,
 their harmony.
 they were entangled,
 until they could no longer remember
 before.
 until they could no longer recall
 who was Torment
 and
 who was Lightness.
 entwined, they embraced
 as they tumbled,
 and
 they remembered.
 they saw.
 as now, as they have always been,
 perfectly, exquisitely,
 a beautiful maelstrom
 of both.
 they fell
 and they soared.
 together,
 one.

“…I don’t just wish you rain, Beloved – I wish you the beauty of storms…” John Geddes

I love this quote. For so many reason, but the most prominent one being that I find such beauty in storms. The fierceness, the strength and the seeming chaos that is unleashed. A force of nature to revere and honour.

It mirrors what life can be and what enraptures me.
The sheer expansive power of energy. No way to control it.
Learn to ride it and know when to find shelter and ride it out.
Know when to stand in the eye of it and watch the hairs on your body stand up in the electric hum that buzzes.
Know the joy of rain lashing your face while thunder roars and lightning blinds you.
Know your smallness and feel it. Really feel it.
Feel how the energy flows and how you’re a part of it.
The beauty of a Maelstrom…

An unpredictable surface
Masking fortitude and composure beneath

The tempest rages…Explosive, volatile and erratic
Torrents of passion, seemingly undirected

A display of allegedly uncontrolled power
The overwhelming sense of chaos, disordered and tumultuous

The heart of the Maelstrom lies deeply within
A driving force, hidden, yet unfaltering

A known intention…focus unwavering
Strength and resolve, unquestionable

many lives lived
enveloped in this one

some short and bright
others just as brief, yet dark
darkness and light equally blinding

lives that are entwined, bound
separate yet one
unique even as they are the same

the one constant that runs through
being my Self that lives them
holding the memories fiercely deep and close

many lives lived
enveloped in this one

and she flew

wind dances in her hair, lifting and playing with the jumbled strands
the breeze kisses her
tingles bring a shiver to her as she roots to the edge
eyes closed softly against the view
the horizon’s image burned into her mind
the setting sun blazes but no heat reaches her
the season has turned and taken the warmth with it
leaving a chill mated with the sun now as it lowers in the sky
steady and strong is her stance
she waits
she knows when its the right moment
she waits
the movements awakens far inside of her
long before any perceptible sign is visible
she draws her breath inward
slowly and deeply, fully into her
her wings unfurl, expand, reach
face uplifted, eyes opening as she gazes
exhale and an effortless lean forward
not so much the freedom of flight she seeks
as it is the release of the weight she leaves
as she soars

and she flew