a dawn awakening

a drop of dew now
sits silently glancing at
a passing moment

what do we really know?

going supernova

entombed in silence
our sun has a bright future
dying to be seen

Life has meaning?

The meaning of life?
So much time is wasted searching
rather than living.
In the end, it matters not
from where the stream flows
that it does is the miracle.

What value does it add to draw
meaning from an open book
with words yet to be written;
where essence, even when captured
in words, is but a shadow of what came
before and what will come after.

a disturbing light

not even darkness
remains silent when lightning
makes an appearance

make the most of it

a welcomed joy

the light of the moon
needs no windows to enter
deep into my heart

signs of spring

with chirping trees and
gently fluttering petals
spring arrives at last

illusions of grandeur

hard to reach

a bright spot

surrounded by grey
cherry blossoms now summon
thoughts of better times

Photo by: PrincessxKrysi

(from Deviant Art)

driven to silence

winter is speechless –
hearing of spring’s desire
to paint with colours

angry words

mesmerising

caught between waves
my deepest thoughts are drowned by
crashing whiteness

the glorious sun

more precious than gems
is that which lights up the day
and makes the moon glow

arrow of time

a vision in the making

awakened by spring
dormant colours vying for
poetic license

Tears of oppression

O rise you brave indignant souls
enough of lifeless tears
drained from hidden wells.

Come forth to share the light
and bask in open truth
to cleanse your mortal stains.

No more should you in silence bear
the injustice of a passing wind
whose voice speaks of oppression.

Give not your tormentors
strength through your silence
but speak not as a lover scorned.

And through strength of a blade
indiscriminately strike random hearts
and wound thy precious soul.

Gather great courage in your voice
and know that it is more than
match for what ails this world.

Let it bellow loudly to awaken
dormant hearts to your cause
and thus through conscience touch.

To raise such fire in their blood
that wouldst injustice slay and
be the cause of peaceful change.

clouded emotions

The storm we bring

Towards distant skies
eyes wander,
minds ponder,
at storms to come.
Heralded by
ominous clouds
and uncertainties,
unrecognisable seasons
arrive and linger,
to spread veiled threats
that stay to mar
known landscapes.

How I yearn
for the predictability
of years gone by,
when winter
meant blinding
whiteness that
cap mountains
and gentle snow
buffeting cities,
or when summer skies
were left free from
autumns tears

Alas, confusion
now reigns where
trees know not
when to shed
and flowers
when to bloom.
The storms that
come bring
bewilderment
to rewrite
expectations.

Such storms
care not
for our suffering,
nor has time
for ignorance,
or for carelessness.
They come
to spite us,
to remind us
of the change we bring
and the storm
we are.