Twilight

 

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art: ifeng.com

Each dawn brings
Sunday’s lament
for ancient times.
Released on twilight’s limbs,
it crawls slowly
through arched skies –
wafting the darkness –
until it settles to meet
my ankles.
Luckily, songbirds
hidden by the morning mist
accompany me
on my journey,
always before sadness
beclouds my intent.
Ahead of me on this long,
long road, hope waits
with its strange arms
open wide, outstretched,
and ready to cradle me,
to make me replete.

With Rigid Arrow

cupid-revives-psyche

*”Love and the Soul had sought
and, after sore trials, found each other;
and that union could never be broken.”*

*”Cupid and Psyche”,

Will the brash beat
of these drums
send shivering flames
to the gods?
Will forsaking my invisible
others bring them down on me
still at odds?
Precarious is this war
of love.
Furiously the embers smoulder,
ashen hearts fall like doves,

blackened crests
fall weary to the archer,
lean and drawn.
He pierces mistrust,
another war
of love.
Still they fly
aloft once more, but
wisdom has abandoned
this falling prey of
struggle,
left to tinge their sultry skies
and hazardous way,
to love.

An arena waits,
swept by feet,
filled to feast on
harmony’s greed,
but they love
this love,
and the love of bitter enemies
to be combated, yet
she flies through its face,
to be reunited
once more.

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