I’d often think that fireflies
Would drink beyond their means,
Stuttering aloft this canopy
Spilling sips of revelry.
Author: ahorsealone
9 days
A setting sun sheds it’s colour,
Beneath timid summer leaves.
As winds would shy past shutters,
Wooded souls swayed warm and dreamed.
Day 8
In the solitude
Of our temples heart,
We wrote our names
Into the wind,
A written music
For those with wings.
The perched prayers
Flutter…begin.
Seven Days
When you were the sea of my eye,
My self fell upon wings so shy.
When was laughter last so light,
That I had felt forgotten flight.
Day 6
In the company of friends,
We forget what life amends.
And if it where still the same,
Will we know what remained.
On day 5 am
In that we wait for end,
Mid fading winds of sand.
In dark refuge of night,
Silent word prays…despite.
The fourth day
I whisper as one, another,
Who was left with little cover.
I saw the blooms of shiver cast,
Infant petals, not one the last.
Just before the wind had left
This wood had days not so bereft.
With all the thickets swaying bare…
This little bloom sways so fair.
Day, the Third
Between the borders of my self,
The lips of the departed mourn,
For there my spirit descends,
Taking the eyes of death.
The Second Day
The sky is my wound,
And you… my womb.
If ever was a lovers nest,
Let us in the sky take rest.
First Day
The charm of a sun,
Those golden rays.
A wild grass undone,
Golden, reaches…sways.
ahorsealone 
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