The Eye

Around a single point

The icy wind begins to bend.

An ever-tightening spiral

Of howling power

Swift to send

Every object

In its warring path

Somewhere further

From its cutting blast.

The divisive force

(It would appear)

Is doomed to miss

What's very near.

Right within 

Its savage flow, 

The eye looks out

To watch the show.

Her

A playful beauty resides

In the moments allowed to be,

When thought is drowned in rapids,

As river runs to sea.

Do words enrich her presence?

Or push her into shade?

Her voice at once a siren.

A toll is to be paid.

Sacrifice the present.

Let Ego fade to dust.

Melt into her river.

Feel its fecund thrust.

When it's over, you'll return, 

Floating in a sea.

'Of my creation or hers?'

Silly Ego, 

Let it be.

Reverie

Whispered deeds in dark corridors.

Living ears turn cold.

A portrait moves.

A piano plays.

Wicked tales hitherto untold.

Ivory clicks as digits dance

Upon the yellowed keys, 

Which find the tones of discordant hearts;

A beat under animated bones.

Mirror

How far could the light reach down,

If each of our mirrors shone?

How much would the darkness shrink,

If each reflection were a fiery sun?

What would be uncovered,

When the rays dig through the deep?

Where no light has yet set foot.

Where all hope is fast asleep.

Some mirrors may seem too broken;

Damaged beyond repair.

But who are we to judge?

Any light can cut the air.

We ask. We plead. We ponder. 

For we'd desperately love to know.

But wisdom says, be patient.

To keep the light,

We let it go.

Paper castles

Drunk on a splash of power, 

The puppeteers will play, 

Petting their grand delusions, 

Dreaming they can stay.

Yet Time is undefeated.

Just ask a pile of bones.

There is no redemption

For a cabal of callous clones.

So build your paper castles.

Pretend they're made of stone.

The shifting sand will swallow.

The Reaper works alone.

Eluvielle

The rushing river slows

To a smooth, respectful stride

As the Forest's Daughter nears

With her loping and graceful glide.

She sits astride a stone

With her feet above the water.

Her roots reach down to drink;

An honour to nourish the Daughter.

Birds alight to bathe

In the presence of her calm, 

Chirping as they splash; 

Flowers in her palm.

The Grey (pt. 2)

A malevolent mingling of fetid fumes

Conspires beneath the surface,

Peeking out to meet the mist;

An inkling of slithering purpose.

A spirit which grows 

In the damp, 

In the dark,

Finds sentience by an unforeseen spark.

Lusting, it hunts for a physical form...

In the city's bowels, 

New evil is born.