Echo

Poetry

Is anything more lonely than an echo?

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The Season of Tomorrow & Yesterday

Poetry

Days are longer and brighter as
the sun awakens from it’s month’s long nap and
flexes muscles slowly like a
morning stretch that tests the body without inviting a cramp

Birds are restless and
waiting for any opportunity to
share a cheerful chirp or
even flash their wings in exuberance over
the upcoming change of seasons

We trace the sun across our horizon and
watch it’s course over and over as
we measure moments, solstices and equinoxes in
addition to all the days in between that
measure our lives and define our years

Once again we steal the sun from
our neighbors south of the equator with
the promise to return it in six more months when
they have likely grown weary of the
gloom, the cold, and the dreary muck that
comprises the depths of hard winter on
this giant blue marble careening through space in
it’s captive course

Enjoy your days, don’t wish for future ones
No one is guaranteed the promise of tomorrow since it
never arrives, but rather becomes another
today which will give way to an
addition on a mountain of yesterdays that
comprise where we have been.\

Today
Today is the day that matter so
live it to the fullest, then
freely relinquish it that scrapyard of yesterdays

Image by Jorge Guillen from Pixabay

Unseen

Poetry

The Unseen
a deity of force
who mortals fear
and offer remorse
a priest spoke his word
Felt his call
Walked his hall

Trinity
a coven of envy
who demand worship
from the mortal frenzy
they control the Unseen
made their rules
stoked the fuel

So it went
Unseen gave Trinity
wealth and riches
The priest they did torment
threw him to the jackals
manipulations
insinuations

Deities
recognize faithful
while remembering
the brazenly hateful
Unseen withdrew blessings
cursed their name
squelched their fame

Now they weep
for the return of glory
A deified muse
to tap for a story
he remains elusive
out of sight
fueling blight

Image by Enrique Meseguer from Pixabay

just bliss. — finding serendiipitii

Friends of Dinlas

and you’ve never tasted the Universe until you count the stars that have settled in your irises, and match them to hers; there is harmony within their fingers, tracing black and white down their temples ancient symbols of becoming one whole and you would never have guessed, never seen it coming, if she had told […]

just bliss. — finding serendiipitii