FarewellsDetails on my alt account. =pavillion
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QuaternionEheu fugaces labuntur anni － HoraceQuaternion
曙はまだ紫にほととぎす - 芭蕉
I: Dawn on Mt. Olympus
Hythlodaeus, O walk with me this eve to summit where the stars are within reach, to sight below, the sinusoidal beach chant forth with glowing voice its dirge and grieve; “Adieu to sweet Persephone! relieved this year again from caring arms.” And each unquiet night, the darkness of the breach assaults her flitting powers to believe. So then, O let us walk! It is our
by ~fallingsilver
Azaleas.Azaleas
The Metro can be heard. Its dark blue silhouette passing through the station like a film reel, with the sunlight filtering in to reveal the drama within each frame.
The announcements weave
their ways through the pigeons and land gently at the bottom, like the autumnal auburn drift from a Darjeeling dive. And I trade in, a glance of grooming reflection with the window, for a ray of paradise
shooting in from between two skyscrapers, whitewashing the interior, as the cabin curls
around the outer lane
by ~fallingsilver
Glass of Lye.Glass of Lye
Luz! Strip this/cover, settled dust born from fallEn oak wood // leaveS and fleAs from the glass of lYe the fathers found beneath the infant/trees.
poUr Guinness so the flowers May anchor its roots in the land of deCrees swept away with a golden bRush to seats reserveD for tea.
[enter emperor with attendants]
"Achtung! comrades." voices rung
further bellow, spilt and sung, thoughts
by ~fallingsilver
Little Village TaleTraitless alleys nonchalantly taken in quotidian walks to and from the market air, are splayed in labyrinthine repose with debonair smiles towards exchanged salutations, to awaken souls bearing no theatric flair by carrying throughout its temperate morning channels the selfsame vernal lights that the dust-covered annals of the town has seen, growing - by levels – unaware; just as grit left floating upon one homely mantel becomes with time a servant to the household scene, overlooked by the buxom maid once keen on cleaning off the molten tops of many a waning candle. As thLittle Village Tale
by ~fallingsilver
Favourites
Birthright 1 Lay me, seated, at a table-faction of smiling dead: cadavers raising their forks and scalpels to their chests, gladly dining on themselves. Turn my head to that Roman rot; to the unknowing hairs of their long, unattached noses, strands overtaking the upturns of bottom lips; to the fingernails that question their place in the ranks of graves, and cusp the hollow of wine glasses like they do their own long-dissolved souls; and turn my head away from you—especially you, e sempre.Birthright
2 Yesterday I di
by ~catching
Painting PaintingPainting
She somewhat grins with master strokes - Curved lines carved roads winding over each other in search for ways to express the moment when she twinkled.
Her portrait is a lesson in geography, mapped texture symphony, different shades imposing on each other -
harmony in gradients and contrast.
Run your fingers up her coarse hair and ripe-less nose, a hand's etchings into canvas, the steady story
where copper hills meet an oily river of tan and burgundy:
Paths groove through a valley - wrinkles
by `wernstrum
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yes, i saw your other page.
silly question for me to ask why when I've been how you're feeling in past experiences.
now it's time to take your own advice.
i'm going to miss you until you come back or email me or something.
dae.
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June 22
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For all poets: [link]
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June 22
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wishing well
coins desire
dreams ripple
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hello, Philo.
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writers bleed words...
freewill
over
fate...
...which do you choose (pick one)
I hope you're well. I'm . . . something.
I need to write more; same old story.
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do your part. love your mother.
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