Storms

 

He was my storm

I was his shelter

He, with dagger and compass

I, with torn heart

Stood stone still

A bringer of darkness

I was his light

Shipwrecked and broken

I picked his ruins

Salvaged the grit and the glass

He shivered from fever

I lit the fire

As he dreamed of ships in the night

Of sirens and seas, of pirates and plunder

I polished his pieces, held shards to light

Disturbed and addicted to Aigaios’ charm,

He swanned in the clutches of tempests

I swayed with symphony and sound

He was my storm

I was his shelter

Or was it the other way round?

 

~ Oceans and Storms

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Paeonia

 

I disagreed.

 

The legends and the myths

Whispered tales of romance and honour

Apparitions in the mystic

Saw Apollo hand the flower to Paeon

While Asclepius, in a flash of rage threatened murder

It’s said that Zeus saved the mortal Paeon, turned him into an exquisite flower

That mischievous nymphs hid in petals

Of Moon Goddess magic which charmed Peony

Who in turn, reflected moonbeams into darkness

 

And you said, “Darlin. Don’t believe in inexplicable things.”

 

The sultry voice of a woman filled the small room. Notes rose, hit the ceiling, dropped. Words teased and enchanted as they wrapped humanity. “The High Priestess of Soul” punched the tiny kitchen with passion and spirit, nestled herself into every corner, tucked inside each drawer.

Absorbed in the magic, he forgot last night, forgot time. The notes brought dignity into the room. He bowed, gripped the counter and let his troubles slip off bone.

~ Maybe Love Will Save Us