Strange Hours

I’m shaking the winter from my bones with unreserved feathers
And a theory that takes me on wing
To a place I can savor the sacred voice of the woman in me
There is no ointment like ripe sunshine
And there is no quenching the vulnerable yet thirsty mind
Unless I can unlock the severed vacuous remnants of wasted moments
And replace it with the smooth rebel of an uneven angel
Unrestrained in a succulent fraction of life
Let me sip the wet kiss from the lips of my soul
To loosen my narrow grip on a suggestive existence, never mine
Although I adore the whispering willow of my old winter within
I must let the loner find her place among the multitude of seekers
And so now I utter no unsettled freedom upon my winter mind
There is only time to burn my candles and let the love warm me again
For the morning comes slowly but sometimes not quietly
As my portions of the day past are more than I can stomach
And so I drink the ethereal night and the light of the stars
And gain sustenance from the bone white moon
And its marrow of secret reflecting dreams
And as I speak here with the strange weight of yesteryear
I find the day is just as intense as night
Just as vexed and versed all at once
With strange weights that will or will not suffice
To kill the kernel of suffering still left in the broken heart
Or the clock struck shockingly solid, and unmoving, and unyielding
And yes, unkind, yet what is a mystery…without some haste
To uncover the most valuable of clues we still have yet to find
But not tonight and not tomorrow will I be frantic to dip back into sorrow
I will observe the pathos but only sojourn here in the dark
For I feel the sunrise approaching and my wings are restless tonight
So grab yourself a dream and hold on tight
As the savage sun creeps over the hills of houses
The light of hope returns and the dove shall again fly
Past the mirrors of misery and silent but weary hours spent in self reflection
And into the hands of the Great Creator once again
And with it I placed my crushed dreams of yesteryear
And watched as the Great Creator let them sift through his hands
Drifting away on a spring wind only to land on the ocean
Which washes my troubles and makes me have to make the first choice
For the beginning of a new hour and a new way to find peace
From within as well as without,
For I am not without a question
And time is not without an answer


Nica Bane 08/07

I'm kinda sad no one read this one,

just saw it Nica, what a wonderful piece of work

Thank you so much, smiles

nice work

Thank you very much, I hope your night went well. smiles