
“Winter Dusk” by Hilary J. England
(Originally posted February 2014)
early dusk settles
its shawl on the shoulders of
barren afternoons
“Winter Dusk” by Hilary J. England
(Originally posted February 2014)
early dusk settles
its shawl on the shoulders of
barren afternoons
“Night” by Justyna Kopania
edge of light
slashes time
a remorseless
soft blade
dripping days
upon stones
of my past
bleeding life
from the sky
letting darkness
invade and
seep into
the wound
with no hope
of a healing
no soothing
dull scars to
give finish to
pain of this
ultimate night
all my dawns
have been used
more’s the pity
so many
were wasted
empty days lumber along
wagons wobble and heave
hauling cargoes of hours
escaping their origins
dangerous dawns left
long since far behind
rutted routes tell that
others have been here
did they bear the same
burdens the crush from
the weight of each day
time so heavy it pushes
a man beyond reach of
his shadow in train with
all hesitant moments
possessions that he must
by law of the lawgiver
carry until end of days
this rough rocky ground
jars old axles and wheels
wincing pain the sharp
reflex to each bump and
bang jostling thoughts
and beliefs ideas slam
in concussing collisions
plans rattle and crash
time to rest mind and
body and bone time to
rescue what little is left
of a life time to gather
the residue pieces of
dreams broken shards
burned as fuel gone to
fly ash away in the
bivouac campfire smoke
then to climb back aboard
heading out with a caution
imposed by the wreckage
of voyage the drag from
the bulk of encumbrances
minutes misspent make
a punishing load for a
troubled mind dense with
the fear of a journey
compelled toward what end
no one knows because
no one who passed this way
ever returned to explain
to assure to console
except one
long ago
far away
bearing news
of salvation
for all who
would have it
it’s the dying
this cold muddy slog
for the edge of the map
here where
roads long since
outran their pavement
converged into
one awkward route
no more mileposts left
distance down
now to counting
by stumbles and steps
this terrain
unfamiliar portends
an ungentle conclusion
fellow travelers
appear just as lost
nonetheless join in train
clear of eye
unafraid stoic ready
to rest from the journey
some not all
anticipate heaven
in reward of devotion
others wonder
or worry of wasting
all the miles left behind
still others
accept that life
simply cannot outlast death
all the same
their disparities
fall to their union here
end of days
waiting right where
we knew they would be
pluck from the twilight
soft fairy-glow gems
make of them circlets
imperial diadems set
for your cascade of
raven waved hair
queen of interstice
ruling that in-between
realm where the fade
of the day broaches
nuptial arrangement
with gathering mists
of an inchoate night
how you live in those
moments determines
the quality tending
existence through
dominant hours of
high moons and suns
light comes undone
in these shadowlands
giving fire its reign
passion burning its
painful identity inside
our veins skin aglow
from the red flames
of love that we lit
in our sunrising hours
keeping its heat
through the turn of
our sky unto dusk
you and I need not
fear for the growth
of these shadows
the smoky soft gifts
of our memories
lasting a little while
longer until they
converge with the
dissolute darkness
of night where our
fire can slumber
unnoticed in comfort
till startled awake by
new lovers who
take up our ardor
igniting their own
blaze and blush of
new glorious dawn
the day moon unnerves me
it seems so celestially wrong
some grave glitch in the gearworks
that govern the progress of orbs
how will night and day keep
to their schedule of duties
to regulate body clock humors
of passion or breast-beating prayers
will wolves choke back hesitant howls
tides turn on themselves
leaving lovers to gaze into nothing
but faint tiny pinpricks of starlight
it seems so unfair to give one
half the world moon and sun
side by side while depriving them both
to the other half stumbling in darkness
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
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