Where the sun rise against the cold

Just like the days of my childhood
When the stream was too long
For darkness to fall,
Melancholy has lived in me,
With Its moss and grey rocks.
I’ve hurried slowly towards the peaks
Where the sun rise against the cold
And Nightshimmer drift on the kneeling hills.
Only to whisper loudly in the frail dark
Of longings and memories
That were not my own.

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A long-legged echo of melancholy

The shadow of a tern
Flashes black over the sea,
The cross-shaped silhouette
Is visible only for a second
Before it disappears
Into the sunlit horizon
Leaving a long-legged echo
Of melancholy behind.

There is a sense of oldness in the air

There is a sense of oldness in the air,
As though it has been impregnated
With tenderness, delicacy and wisdom.
Ghostly peaks, partially hidden
By knitted webs of thinning wedding veils,
Worn out by generations of stone cold brides,
Remind us of old newness and peaceful departings.
Spring’s forest school alumni,
Ready to embark on their virgin flight,
Darken the air with insecure strong-born wings.
There is the sound of rain falling into lakes
And souls slipping into sunsets,
As though leaves were attached to their backs.
And mornings to come,
With night-trees feeding on shadows
To part ways with the sun.

Walking down a lonely road

I’m walking down a lonely road
I wish time wasn’t walking along,
Seeing faces and places;
Reminders of home.

There is snow on the signposts,
Autumn’s clutter in the guts,
Beaten down tracks of
Asphalt and stone.

I’m walking down a lonely road
I wish I wasn’t walking alone,
Seeing white-painted crossings
Faded and gone.

There are untouched skipping stones
In sea-washed harbors,
And crab traps left
To yellow and grow old.

I’m walking down a lonely road
Where possibilities’ shop
Has long since been closed,
Leaving only in its wake
Miles and miles of unclaimed love.