That Which Takes the Dark

insomnia_by_agnes_cecile-d462xxl

4 a.m., and sleep seemed a thing impossible.

The mottled face of the ceiling was like that of the moon,
pale and barren, and offering nothing.

His eyes moved to the orange strip of street-lamp glow
cast across the bedroom wall by the window.

He watched the steam from the sewer drains
wash and dance
like ripples across a mud puddle,
before once again glancing at the hands
of the Big Ben clock at his bed-side.

Sleep wasn’t coming.

It had made its appearance brief, and seemingly
had moved on, leaving him to yearn.

Now, he did yearn,
but attempted to stop, for he knew
such an act would yield nothing.

-BSB

Amethyst in the House of the Sons of Erick

I don’t recall exactly what reason brought me to Roland’s house that day in the fall of my nineteenth year. More than likely I was meeting up with his sons so that we could set off on some type of mission of fun and mischief. Roland had raised three sons, and the eldest two were young men whom I happily called friends. The youngest was in the process of reaching an age I could tolerate and was showing signs of becoming just as fair and likeable a man as his siblings. Continue reading

travelling master

wisdom aged longer than time
takes my youth beyond my place
and wears on this restless mind
to live for more and achieve less

the quickening entropy of consciousness
feeds the urge to find peace
above and beyond this earthly trap
which clings like a ghastly prison

patience, the virtue persisting
that holds the ego in anxious limbo
my long life beckons with promise
the present moment holds truth

and I, the dreamer and excited pilgrim
must venture onward into uncertainty
blessed with insight beyond our years
armed with the gifts self-bestowed

holding eternal the calm ideal
and carry on in present reality
until manifested are all my dreams
and paradise is mine to enjoy

for all time
forever