Latest Posts by moonlitmirror - Page 6

This deafening cacophony 

creates a solitary peace

encompassed in small rooms

rippling a quiet release

Hold me over a rainbow

Hold me over the tearful seas

Hear the blackbird calling

Calling through the breeze

You hurt me with your fragile words;

lonely is the new day's speech

and the quiet beholds a solemn time

filled with empty promises, I hear you speak

of nothing more than darkness folding

consuming all to sit and see

a new day filled with quietly spoken

words now absent

of your cruel mind and damning speech

It’s quite nice to spend a while dancing through time

suspended in its ticking hours and days 

forever a breath away from endless moments

Some small things in this world that I like and am very grateful for #1

Ice

Slipper socks

Sun umbrellas

Cherry blossoms float;

Flurries of delicate snow

in the heart of spring

A lady in the sky, she follows

dawn’s peaceful light

in wait of tomorrow's guilt,

burning beneath a mountain of clouds

each one darker than the last,

and yet she shines

brighter than any sun in any sky,

she wanders near those setting scales

backed by lions in a crow like roar

waiting to feed the passing day

a lady in the sky, she waits

Blossom

A ghost is perched in the middle of the lane

softly swaying in a dull grey wind;

she has bloomed but now is still

full of ghostly feathers, like cotton

sheets fresh and waiting,

a new woven straw hat 

balanced on the crowded brass hook,

pillows of clouds and endless days

with no rain but the grass is dewy eyed 

and lost in a trailing book,

flyaways cutting a boundless sight,

some days are long and grey 

but then the nights --

           -- the blossom tree outside my window

tells me when spring is here

yet it is wasted in a silent darkness

softly perched in the middle of the lane,

feathers orange in the glow of a thousand sunsets

waiting to be seen again

I am caught on the wind adrift

bound by a grieving sky

still within a restless storm 

buried beneath its striking fire

The days are spent in glory and sun

until rain casts its violent shadow;

a storm to herald a setting moon

and bring life again, glory again --

                                  -- it will be here soon

Isolation

We can cross over and connect

find peace in small things

travel beyond even our simplest dreams - 

I’ll see you in a moment, sitting by the sea 

lost in this forgotten memory

Waking up to a thousand songs

each hour, they chime and sing,

I knew they would never sing again 

if there was no new day to bring

.

They mark the time with beak and wing

its slow passing now my desire;

forever bound to their floating song, 

forever bound to their charming fire

Will this day ever end

for fear of waking again;

a new rise, a new day

forever a lifetime away

There is nothing more hopeful than the delicate touch of rain amongst a thunderstorm of clouds.

We trace our lives in running circles

always waiting for a new path to show

Strained and wanting

I simmer below the surface,

a thousand pieces of light

stretched thin and glaring

piece together my skin,

thoughts rumbling through

troubled waters, fine lines

and wasted moments,

preoccupied with nothing

Overthinking

I dream in hurried whispers

frantically calling for settled peace

amongst troubled thoughts

and empty seats

crowded by a droning babble

forever in a constant struggle

I claim only ease

in my own troubled company

watching their restless words

clamour for attention

over nothing but an empty dream 

"It is not every one," said Elinor, "who has your passion for dead leaves."

I feel that my entire experience with reading Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility can be summed up in the sarcasm of that sentence.

Black foggy mountains

bow beneath the legacy

of a golden sun

This is an old journal I upcycled that I now use for story writing ideas when I'm on the go or if I have an idea I need to research or pursue further. I used the covers from the original journal, some exercise books, some scrap materials, and a ton of glue. And I mean a ton - I'm sure if it ever got to 35 degrees here then all the glue would melt and the journal would fall apart. Oh, and the buttons are purely decorational and serve no purpose other than I used material with buttonholes in it for the spine. It would just look weird if there were buttonholes but no buttons, I guess.

When the people you are closest to, who may even know you more than you know yourself, call you fearless and strong when you start doubting yourself, it makes you realise that there is a whole part of yourself that only others see and believe in. And maybe you could start believing in that too.

We are more than what we appear

layers of voices beyond a moonlit mirror

silver threads wrapping around your ears

a darkness light cannot make clearer

You storm away without a backward glance

only troubled minds seek paradise

an escape to a better world 

far from circumstance

you whisper to yourself at night

clearing tear-tracked eyes, a haunted sight

I see you now through the mirror glass

cursing what blocks your well-trodden path

Midsummer

I feel laden with unsaid dreams

spilling over my hair, my feet

walking through a daylit night

full of sparkling stars and troubled sleep

Fallen angels are only humans in disguise, reincarnated to follow a new purpose - heal others in order to heal yourself.

I'll listen for a while

but soon I'll start writing

the air absorbs my words

whispered ink, floating, swirling

a thousand voices silently churning

a brilliant light that clouds the senses

drowning in heady daydreams

and forgotten thoughts.

'I'm sorry, what did you say?' I'll say politely.

Rain falls on the many and sunshine only a few. In moments of joy, rain sure does feel like sunshine.

Fantasy

Over there, a mountain side

billowing over a timeless pride

a valley, full of wisps and sighs

each flower an ear

each leaf an eye

.

The sun does not set here

forever, the full moon bright and sheer

will expel the living of their fear

the light-filled twins

share a darkened sky

.

I sat down amongst it all

my mind swaying, a graceful fall

settled within this imagined world

my head a blur

my heart a whirl

Passing Thoughts

I’m sat here at the kitchen countertop

my laptop on a chopping board

watching my mother's jam pot

simmer away the plums and sugar - 

I’m here to stop it boiling over.

It has already done it once 

the sticky pink liquid has become

stained glass on the hob cooker

it hasn’t reduced much

so I might be here just a little while longer