Fantasy Love

If I could cross the distance, I’d show you a world of magic. We would listen to the tinkle of fairy wings beneath the sundering roars of dragons. We would wander down trails carved from the age old stone of mountains with peaks housing mythical creatures and the ancient miners of the deep earth. The woods would spiral out in a cacophony of mystery, beckoning us deeper into the vastness of the land. We would sip tea with the pointy eared ones with immortal eyes, play checkers with the bridge dwellers, dance wildly beneath the tops of mushroom villages and their pixie residents. We would hold hands, smile, and drop down waterfalls where the rocks have been tumbled smooth, their jaggedness run down over ages of gentle pressure and the tender ministrations of a thousand children creating a playground straight from the planet.

If I could cross the distance, I’d show you eternity above. The most lovely of pink hued edges wrapping across a sun of glossy stained glass against the vibrancy of blue. Soon the sky dancers would spark into existence as so many millions of eternal fireflies placed on a black canvas. The moon would climb out of it’s slumber to grin and translate the inkiness of night into a soft violet hue. Wolves would howl in somber songs of love, crickets would chirp their worship, and owls bathe the world in their questioning symphony.

Against the night, I would lay you down in the softest of grass. We would wave excitedly at the luminescence of our heaven bound ancestors as they rained their glow down on us. Our fingers would become paintbrushes as we connected their souls from the infinity above to each other as we painted portraits and fantastical creatures into the night. As the dark deepened, we would wrap ourselves in each other, merging as we bathed beneath the softness of infinity and the gentle eyes of the universe loving it’s children. We would stare into each others eyes and the moment of climax would break the hold of our bodies over our souls. Our cries would match the wolves and the entirety of existence would freeze for a moment of purity, ecstasy, and innocence.


If only I could cross the distance….I’d take you there.

Bones and Flowers

All credit due to MacSeam for the artwork.

Spacious and widely set are these woven walls
stinging nettles wrapped firmly around whipcord center
a promise of pliable willow branches,
carefully soaked switches
cut green, bound in beautifully colored leaves thick with thorns.
Laced with the fabric of breath, desire, mystique,
keeping the luminescent beyond–
–beyond.

However, in those laced moments that the air stirs first languorously,
then rising to delight in how it can twist and whirl
a joyful movement of shifting scents
breeze spraying aside the curtains
they, no heavier than dreams.
Rolling across the stones laid intricate with care
drifting to cross the lone pond.
Glassine and undisturbed as puddled silver
thickly magick and deeper than deep can be known–
–as the air quenches and remakes.

Where tendrilled branches cast ripples,
serpentine gashes play at being rivulets of liquid
cutting once pristine layers
on which reflections lay.
Alive and shedding mirrored skin,
sloshing possibility and promise
as ancient hearts cast aromas in the air,
only as decayed wood left to rot can.
Dust and brittle powdering husks
broken down from their heights to furnish food and fuel
that the next generation might cast ramparts of growth
riding high on the bones of the Old.

Silently they sit.
Gazing down at the scarred and skittering pool,
beaming hope in darkly radiant intensity
from behind eyes set deep with focus.
Reflecting, and wishing fitfully,
that as it calms,
they will find relief from their personal tempests
peace through the restoration of waters
returning to their unblemished state.

A cauldron of insight,
slickly metallic and alluring
where they might at last catch sight of their foes,
drag them into the shaded glen,
bleed them onto the stones,
leave their corpses ragged and torn,
that they can be reborn with the changing days.

Blissfully drift into their thoughts unfettered by care,
smile indulgently at the colorful cacophony
as it unfolds behind their drooping lids,
Oh!–what flowers Spring would surely bring.