Graceful comfort

There is a moody and graceful comfort
In the frosted breath of a dark night.
So trusting in its soft whimpering
Like a grouse on the fells.
Days borrow light from those hidden pockets
Lined with whispered evening prayers
Of loneliness and need.
It is as though the mist-shrouded peaks
Outnumber the clouds,
Leaning victorious over the bat infested sky.
Those high-pitched cries carry echos;
A chorus of redemption
Shooting across the night like a shower of stars.
And you stand there as old as humanity
Smothered between naked fields
While your perfected dreams, gilded like icons,
smash like glass pearls against rocks.
Within, a gull’s dirty wing begin to sketch
A thousand green islands.

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Looking for somewhere to land

Your hands were made
To grow soft, to always
Be full and open
To silver-winged butterflies
And night moths circling
In the twilight
Looking for somewhere
To land.
It is a great comfort
For a weary flier
To see the lights of the runway
When the journey has reached
Its end.

We are rivers

We are all rivers cascading
From different peaks.
I see you running
Towards the ocean,
Tumbling in between rocks.
But above you, where you
Refuse to look,
There is a pale, but determined
Sun.
And when I see your
Foaming raging breath,
There are colors
In every angry tear,
Transforming even your screams
Into something beautiful.