Winter Flower

Protean water condensates in the Winter Forest,
Cumulatively
Weighing on air
Until it breaks.

Falling to the earth,
To seed the flowers
That do find their roots.

While mumblings
of Good and Evil,
Love and hate,
Unfelt,
Linger in the thoughts of Troglodytes.

The gasp sounds
Of a Sunflower in the Winter Forest.

Letting go,
Becoming yellow in a glow,
Open to the music of quiet.

The Flower gulps a last breath and withers alone in the wind.

And the Troglodytes…

Meandering accessories’
Fabian spirits
Of unfit or the due.


-Ben

If you liked this post, here’s another you might like.

Photography by eberhard grossgasteiger

Logos

Reduced to daily use.
Logos of seeming
Meaning, don’t let us lose them.

Assuage the cycles.
Amalgamate cultures’
Creation, as long as we use it.

Singular Stupid Perusing Fantasies
Vacuous lows-
-Creatively knows.
Underneath the detail
Reveals a vaster apparition.

Drifting Miles.
Miles; Lines of Encyclopaedic scripture
Adding to the ends of markings
As ancestry falls

From the edge of earthiness
Into the void of esoterism.

All that ever was
Emulating all that is.
Lines of symbols,

Reduced to daily use
As logos of seeming
Meaning.
Don’t let us lose it.

Tunnel of Fate

Biting the sides of gums until they bleed,
Barely breathing.
My knees are tapping like a Royal rodent’s limp.

Stiff backed rage tries to leave
My lips,
Tether them together
And simply simply stare red-eyed

Into the tunnel of fate

To seethe production, redemption from regular habit;
Parallel disassociation that blends
Like a thick painful smoke
That kin breathe together.

My legs would take me away for the horizon,
In green where winds blow smooth and wild,
Carrying blessings through blossomed doors from open hearts.

The world would seem a little less Grey that day…
A stream of water to be,
No more volcanoes.