delivered from rust ~

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leftmewaiting

were there more
than one season
a flood before draught
a whisper of knowing
lines never
crossed

in the telling
compelling me
backwards to place
recorded my will -
on wallpaper scrolls

history layered
by news of goodbye
to welcome
the best of me
home
delivered from rust
the remains of a sigh
a moment denied
the pulling apart -
is worn by my soul
into dust

as longing recalls me
– remember
these steps
in returning
of time to the shelf
as lies from the meaning
of all we had learned -
blessings
to follow us
back through the dark

candles warmed
as smoke rings to glass
the pull of the moon
looking in

were ever another
a reason to die -
seeds I was planting
somewhere
before spring

fashioning shadow
from passionate bud
beholding in me -
their purpose became -
blackberry
thistle
and where have you gone
crushed in the leaving
by sweet
muscadine -

awakened to fall
by a dream

. . .

http://tornadoday.wordpress.com/2012/09/24/4862/

http://tornadoday.wordpress.com/2013/12/06/a-way-becoming/

http://tornadoday.wordpress.com/2013/01/09/last-i-was/

sky of mirrors ~

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ofblessingsi

she carried
every tear
outside her heart
a withering corsage
against her skin
held such deep conviction
ache to recognize
a name or two
- a lifetime
unforgot

a time before
this burden come -
to lay aside
the rest
would give of faith
a place within her bed

beneath
a sky of mirrors
windows burned with light
a faraway
brought nearer
by the pain

take charge
the tongue to harness -
a bitterness to chide
or shoes
- you’d never wear
their sorrows out

forgiveness
for the sake
of who you’ll be
when comes the dawn -
held within redemption
by her love

. . .

where petals fell ~

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nowIknow

between the lines
where petals fell
counted back from none
he loves me
loves me not -
or so the story goes

where once
the soul was wary
mercy came as time
from brokenness
- a sweeter blossom
grows

warmed beneath
the same ole sun
rocked upon the wind
sorrows burst
to bloom
beside the rose

presence
keeps a hallowed path
reminders mark
the way
were petals loosed
as questions -

now I know

. . .

hands to watch ~

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remembermehome

how sweet
where springs immortal
some provision for the light
an extra sheet
with blankets down the hall
a book of story
read to me -
one night
when morning came
listening
was I
so sure to fall

in wonder unexpected
a corner
dusted bare -
else distance will
my soul to disappear
how many times
were hands
to watch -
a sweeping into day
love is left a promise
- silence I can
hear

. . .

shudder ~

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mysteriesmine

so sure my soul
recalls your breath
tho how and when -
I shudder
forgotten here
where circumstance remains

when pulled into
your memory -
as light within
your light -
as vapor unremembered
by the flame

of moments held
so fragile
I dare not speak aloud
of where
the wonder slept -
between us
now

as strangers
to believing -
of another place we came
familiar once
as golden still
the sun

. . .

the way of stars ~

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home

when I have gone
the way of stars
across an ancient sky
slid between
the branches - whispering
a name
held sweet
by one or two -
a page already turned
who will know
of words
to understand

were never
meant
for rhyming -
decided by the night
woke me up
when dead the hours passed
relearning
every passion -
a time and place for all
for us
it seems of one
there never was

were ever
this unknowing
be given up again
or I -
a secret carried by the wind
to lands
beyond the call of feet
where cold
the floor is laid
ghosts are camped
in silence -
wondering

. . .

Reflected (in honour of Peaches Geldof)

tornadoday:

Words give us room to feel………

Originally posted on Angela Hickman :

Why do we care?
Why does our compassion swell
in a collective wash of grief

and we hear your babies cry

and we feel your father’s soul fold in half, crumpled
by the anguished pain—returning… again… why?

and we hear your babies cry

Why do we we care
when we never touched the soft skin of innocence
upon your face, or saw the dawning
of countless blossoms only a child’s face can carry
lighting up your smile?
We never knew you, not them, not I

but we hear your babies cry

and we see
our children, mothers, sisters, friends, wives and lovers
reflected
in every image and utter of your name
as you go to sleep and live
in another light, another sky

and in our souls we hear
your babies cry.

— ~ —

View original

outside the season ~

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touchmehere

in the space
where reason rests
thistle guards the soul
as clover bursts
in lavender caress
wonder wills a morning song
of nightbirds to the wire
angels dare
to question
of sin so sweetly blessed

as scars endeared
by knowing
your kiss would taste
the same
where once before
vines were knotted ‘round
bloomed outside
the season
designated for release
prayer became a wing’ed sigh
as leaves were falling
down

. . .

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