Life behests that before I can address the jarring sordid question,
you must have reached your attaining mark.
Embracing our beings’ essence with discretion, would not,
should not strangle the spark.
My hopes dragged through the darkest of the dark,
while your dreams evaporating, fading, and paling out. Continue reading Aphrodite’s Child
To tell a truth of blood and wine
Takes tears of liquid steel and a lazy tongue
Clenched fists, holding on to a hope that fades
Into the grave, sieving through the cracks like fine sand
I kissed your mind and our souls collided.
So I’ll give you to the count of three,
‘Til you think of me.
I awake; eyes open wide, ears pierced back, I lay still for a while and take in the damp dense air.
It smells like victory tonight.
I creep; silently, dauntingly, down the roof and over the lines of fences in the deadest hour of the night.
It is now my moment to thrive.
I search; in utter stealth, clandestinely for the gifts of the dark. I am omniscient and dominantly alone to reap the rewards of the nth life.
Blow kisses against the wind.
Don’t bend the truth to be kind.
Last night it was cold. It was freezing. The snow kept falling and falling, and as it continued to fall for hours, it weaved a thick white blanket that covered the landscape. In the wooden cottage, it was warm; warm and safe and lonely. The cries of the pack outside haunted my mind, painted disturbing pictures, images of pain and longing and yearning. My body begged me to stay indoors, by the fire, to fetch more wood, to cuddle up in front of the flames and relish in the feeling of safety. Yet my mind traveled fast, beyond the cottage, over the white blanket and into the woods, following the howls. But I stayed; I stayed until I could no longer hear the calling, the beckoning. And then I slept.
Helen Marie Joyce 
