Ancient bones die

I hear planes in the sky
bees nearby
I sit and wonder why.

The rise of Earth’s scent
brings memories
ancient as I inhale

Bees nearby
feasting, dancing
to ancient rules

Planes in the sky
laden, travelling
over ancient lines

Me, eyes closed
listening, inhaling
relishing the sunrise

I sit and wander
over bees nearby
over planes in the sky
and up, and around
I wander till found
the answer as to why

ancient bones die.

I sit and wonder
of the age of ghosts
of Earth’s ancient hosts
and of time’s thunder

where ancient bones sigh.

this, December thing

~

As cobwebs grow while we sleep
so does this thing
this, December thing …

How it throttles, suffocates and destroys
how it becomes a pestilence within the silent beats of winter
this, December thing …

The emptiness of broken promises
echoes from the sorrows of children to the sorrows of
this, December thing …

How it settles within bones, upon skin and like a question of blood
how it envelops with its pretence of realism
this, December thing …

Each movement choreographed to make belief believable
while deep in the bowels of truth it festers
this, December thing …

How it seduces, enchants and dazzles
how its cosy fireside warmth births solicitous souls
this, December thing …

Like the chill of death’s cowl
it touches memories with sparks of things long gone, long lost
this, December thing …

How it breathes with such passion, beauty and an evanescence of time
how it reaches in to kiss with the sublime heaviness of falling feathers
this, December thing …

~

How I wish … but this … this December thing, cuts my soul to pieces …