51n1n

Well the publishing on these fell through so i can post these wherever I want again.

FROM THE SYCAMORES



We caressed under the last night of the war

Partly in joy for an end

Partly in our well fought passion for one another

Either way that last bomb had taught us hope

And God knows that it was well overdue



That night I was soon to learn had no death

It fell stagnant somewhere between time and sunrise

Found burning relentless in our eyes was our desire for it to be over

And we expressed our feeling toward one another the only way we knew

.In caution



We were children raised in the midst of chaos

Still frightened of the falling ash and snow of battle

Searching for shelter in each other

And somewhere that night

We found it



Holding hands as we walked

We would find only curious glances at one another for hours

Preludes to what would come

I was soon to learn that I had lost my parents that night

I was soon to learn that she was all I had left



I guess you could say that Im still haunted there,

Part of my soul probably still lies in the rubble

And Im sure it still haunts all of the others

Scarred and broken down from that nights events

The image of death and pain instilled in them

I swear that on that night the angels wept

Whispering somber eulogies in a wandering of the streets

Resting among the sycamores to sing the lost souls into Heaven

I was but a mere child then

But I understood their sorrow



The death of my parents haunts me still

However, I have begun to find peace

Just as we did as we were children

Kissing in the fields

Calling down the angels from the sycamores



WAR OF SEASONS



Autumns angst excommunicates winter from the reign of its eyes

Lacerating his snowing veins

Bleeding slushy ice from gaping mountainside wounds

I cannot say that I didnt want this to happen

However, angelic figures among the glistening treeline are outraged



It is on days like this

That I wish this world would dive spiraling into lunacy

Exiling the seasons into a game of Russian roulette

Confusing the all knowing sky

Burying the sun in flurrying kisses and massive strength



I can picture the funeral as bright as our Summers here

Clouds outfitted in the most exuberant shades of black and grey

The wind carrying messages of tears to earth so loud that they hurt

The moon rising to the throne

Presumptuous and heralding eternal night



Only now beneath the darkest of darklit nights do we see the stars

Blinking in all their infantile simplicity

As if somewhat confused of the calendars events

And I can only assume that stars so alone could only be attempting suicide

Depraving the astral maps of their location and innocence



Only in this war of seasons do I think these things

That one season should be overthrown and vanquished into shame forever

Followed by my thoughts on my own mortality

How will I part?

In a seasonal crossfire..?

A victim to the poor depth perception behind the curtain of falling snow?