Celebration of the dying flame

In the summer dreary
I wake from dreaming, leary
Living in a haze of before

Last looks leave me reeling
Last words etching
Seven years to be free

Stride into winter
Calling out the world to come
Reborn in the cold expanse

One second to collapse
That small puncture
Leaking air

Give me a moment to breathe
Never let me go
Never hold me enough
What’s one more day

One more day
In an eternity of without

Knives of jade spill blood as beauty

Curved sinuous
Turned crystalline
Cuts tongue
Choked words spill onto bloody snow

Hand caresses soft skin
Warmth blooms
Frozen over

Cracked slough
Weights too heavy to bare
Fall away

Pepper frozen blood
Shrapnel burst
Flayed of protective cover

Hopeful anew
Slowly dying
In the brittle
Bone chill
Of morning
Long before the dawn

Post solstice blues

Present in the moment is as much curse as blessing.
With the future nothing more than a ephemeral dream, present becomes of such importance. And not being with those I would choose, who I have no idea if they would choose me, is like being shredded apart only to coalesce whole at the start of the day. Each minute is a new chance, and so each minute becomes a failure. Until the weight of such drags me down to dreaming. At least in oblivion, desire is fulfilled. Though only shadows as portent and memory fade.

After the winter solstice it all winds down. A clockwork spending its energy. This is the time most people wake and grow. This is the time that I fade.

Winter Solstice

Today we Morn.
Today is the last day of Nights Ascendancy.
We morn the return of the sun.
But just as the power of night fades, Winter’s might is unleashed.
Let all this night Tremble,  on this longest night
On this day of Winter
Let the storm’s fury break and in the shattering
let night wake, Let winter Dance
Let Summer cower, for Winter is come!


The darkness begins to fade and with it the fury of winter begins. In sorrow, as it’s lover grows more and more distant until spent and broken spring slinks it’s smarmy way onto the stage. Small moment it basks in flourish then flits away as a child before the full scorn of summer’s matron. This scowling form berate it’s winsome child while in the wings dear autumn waits to step and change the world from unrepentant same to multicolor, this chill of winter’s Herald. Sung voice and winds awakening. Heralds storms destructive desire and winter gains love and strength as Night again swings about in the heart of Winter’s embrace.