Naked.

I followed you,
your trail of blazing fire
that flared up in the sky,
that plunged the world in red,
red.

You stilled my heart with red fingers,
brushed my ebony hair with a soft whisper,
shhh, shhh–
and smiled,
like the last rays of the setting sun.

Field of Green;

Are you listening to
the whispers of the trees?
Their leaves rustle red-purple in the
pastel field of green.

There hung a man they claimed
“didn’t deserve to be free”.
He hummed a desolate melody when
they said he murdered three.

In the dark of the new moon he cried
and told his lover to flee;
“run far away and hide
don’t you ever come back for me.”

Are you listening to
the whispers of the trees?
Their leaves rustle red-purple in the
pastel field of green.

There hung a man they claimed
had taken the lives of three.
The noose was tight, his body light
as he swayed in the field of green.

Special.

Almond-shaped eyes

Short-cropped hair,

A charm that entrances

and blows me away.

A different kind of look

A little rugged, I like–

your smile is all so devious

as I fall into your arms.

You allow me to lead

each step, a slow waltz,

and watch from behind,

with those soft, twinkling eyes.

Haunted.

Oh little one,
why didn’t you flee?
Why didn’t you let your legs
carry you far and free?

Oh little one,
keep running, don’t look back–
Remember my golden curls in all its glory,
not this bloodied, lifeless wreck.

Oh little one,
’tis is a rough and gravelled road.
“Take the road less traveled,” they said
Ha! It has stolen precious empathy,
a cursed, beloved abode.

Oh little one,
in the years to come,
will you come to loathe and
loathe,
holding love

for none?

Soloveiko

Her eyes are glassy.
Her scrawny hands tremble and she watches the nightingale flit
through the green shadows of nature
its angelic feathers beautiful in movement–

No! She searches the sky wildly, eager to capture a glimpse of the small, agile creature
its flapping wings and small beak
the tuft of blue and orange that spreads from its breast;

Clear, sweet birdsong breaks through the rustling of leaves
the melody warm despite the chill of the season.
The blue-throated nightingale whispers soft words:

Come home love
Come home.

Fallen.

You

took it all away. One moment you’re sweet as honey, the next you’re as cold as ice.
What! The edge of anger in your striking blue eyes shatters my armor, it’s
a war-hammer
that slams into the walls of my heart.