Rain

Rain roils like fire in flaming torrents,

sucking in the air, devouring vision,

thundering crackle, consuming distance,

sodden smoking of nature's breath;

so do the heavens serenade the sighing

soil, drenching barren fear, sluicing

away the doubts of dying season, in

unexpected baring of glistening teeth,

lined at Winter's long-dried mouth, 

where voice of hope had been silenced,

flattened by dry, hard days and thirsty

nights, not even a sigh of dusty words,

as time surrendered to the certainty

of hopelessness, of looming death,

of crackled steps, wasted growth; until

that sudden moment when Life laughed

at Death, in glorious watered smile.

https://dversepoets.com/

Words

The words contain the images,
of memories profound, slow
written through the pages
which life bestows around,

the separating minutes, the
seconds in slow drip, divided
into days then months, as fallow
years do slip; forgetting all

the dreams, and moments lost
in sleep, as if they never were,
as if the angels keep, our very
self and being, in places surely

hid, so do we make our way
through time, so do we ride
the grid, of this pure place
of being, of this material

world, of flesh and bone and
exile, of hopes and loss, full
hurled, into the whirling
firmament, into the stream

of time, which Soul requires
to find itself, bestowed on
us as Mind. So does the dance
begin and end as Word;

we creatures so defined. 

Hooded Self

Hooded self describing,
huddled on cold shores,
dark horizon distant;
pebbled mind perforce.

Twinned in all displacing,
gripped by fevered hand,
bird of grief defacing;
silently we stand.

So my alter ego calls,
draws soul to her side,
lures me to water's edge;
catch the morning tide.




https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2017/07/04/photo-challenge-172/

Soul tired

My soul was tired, worn,
huddled under weariness
which clothed the days,
and broken minutes of

my mind, where detritus
of hope lay withered, in
a groping of itself, beyond
the place where it could

hold any shape, which
was recognisable. Yawning
in that cavern of forgetting,
soul languished, and in

ancient palms, observed;
slowly counted out the
moments of becoming:
calling all to account.