adrift in a sea of grieving desires

my vernal mind glows in endless fires -

pages of old yearnings softly weave 

the subtle echoes of my fading belief -

the silky breeze by the twilight skies

breathes in me, rhymes with my cries, 

it rests my soul in the quiet night

through veils of silver fading light -

it glides above swift hissing streams 

that evoke my deep, hidden dreams -

The ground must not shake beneath you,  

Hold fast to the struts and pull the harness to your shoulders.  

Have you not heard of Atlas and his portion — his yoke?  

Chin up — you worm!  

All that's been planted in you,  

You would give up to the ground?  

To the maggots?

The stardust that collected to form your iris You won't cherish?  

The ether that transformed within you into a soul  

You would give to Saul?  

To the hounds, to do with it as they please?

The Nightingale 

Every night, as the moon rose, a woman's song pierced the dark, Full of joy and pain, joined together, softly, not stark.

The people in town were confused by her melody,

" Is she hurting?"

" Is she happy?"

"Why does it so affect me?"

Someone claimed she sang, for a lost love that was sleeping. She sits, still  in her window, with only her hands wringing. 

But, her song was not mournful, for folks declared, from their view,

"It fills me with longing unfullfilled."

Monday was her name

She would've encompassed, the smiles and cries

With the summary, of many week’s gone bye,

Her predecessor is the Sunday when I decide.

To let Monday be the beginning

of a better life.

Trust is a part Monday’s lies.

But Sunday is when the truth can survive.

Believing in thyself is always compromise.

A good night sleep will give you the direction

you need to find