Rosy bird,
shaking its wings off the autumn rain.
Rosy bird,
chirping gleefully through the sunset vale.
Saved now, saved again
by the Cthonian pyre of truthful gaze.
Oh, how did the flaming tongues
scald the sentry's fortress of eyeless self!
In the night of day,
in the devoted ballroom of conscious pretence -
moonstruck and moon-strained 
from unearthed terrors of solar haze - 
birdy bird did cantillate, with blood tears,
the shackles away. 
The black devourer crawled 
from the dungeon cells:
Stygian, starless madness -
a wailing ghost, a mindful lover 
in the haunted corridors 
behind the masks we wear.

~*~

Rosy bird,
incinerated by art of self
to crown itself sovereign
again and again. 
Rosy bird,
the infernal shadows
wrought about the end
of luminaries' benighted lanterns.
Watchful bird,
the world is the empire 
of dreams in reverse.
Phoenix bird,
saved now, saved again
from winter's premature embrace.
Titan bird,
reborn in the reflection
of theatre's grace.
Saved now, saved again
by the sentient might
of consciousness.

This year has proved itself quite engaging, has it not? This is a note for you, dear reader. In the fathomless pools of your sorrow and despair, remember! Remember to keep inquiring yourself. Your liberation lies with the courageous action to seek and comprehend yourself. Unveil your shadows; for that which makes you uneasy is the key to your escape. Even in hopelessness, there is hope still to find your path to a life you would deem worth living. Know yourself and master yourself, else some other force will take command. Know yourself, because only you can accept or deny how to live in any shape or form.

With Conviction,

Alyona

As nightfall paints the world, I relish the peace before the storm. A distant dribbling basketball marks the pace to trance and mindfulness in this precious silence. It will all be tainted when the front door opens, and the artificial lights turn on.

~*~

The dribbling ball has stopped. There is only the infinite silent chiming in my ears.

~*~

The first star has appeared in the last moments of the dimming sky. A bittersweet dull sensation grips my heart. Are these my feelings, or am I channelling the essence of those I watch from the booth up the theatre of life? Is my savoring of quietude now a torture within me burning? Do I wish to be ravished by the storm?

At least, it would be done.

At least, it would be past water.

At least, I would know the extent of its atrocity.

~*~

All sunshine has surrendered to the imposing darkness. Praise the fanciful romance everlasting! The cold floor has hardened, but it cannot be thus for longer, and-

Nevermind. I cannot further my observations in sainted silence.

~*~

The door opened. The artificial lights turnt on. The storm came, and I am bored.

Image by skeeze from Pixabay

Be ever mindful of your speech.

All you say and allow in – even music – acts as a spell upon your being, and not all influence is there to benefit.

Quiet the mind, and learn to listen.

Take control of yourself, and be the master creator you were born to be.

Fear is an illusion.

Despise it and rise above it.

Transmute it into courage.