Madness of Red

It was a quiet evening in the heather,
teaming, swaying on the gentle breeze like wildfire;
I went there to escape the morning's ill feelings, - still not yet allayed,
yet now I could see
sunset's pure colors oozing upon the horizon;
the madness of red, soulful blue of impending twilight,
sharp orange and yellow fruits all hanging on a drooping
tapestry in the sky

Stillness and silence preyed upon my mind at last,
and the forbearance of the season washed away the
elements of a long, long day -
how could it not? I knew the earth wished to take me.

Yet, the creatures saw me in the meadow, saw me for what I was;
two once lively legs and feet, a lithe and impenetrable will - now reduced
to the ashes, such bright eyes now dimmed with heaviness of time
simply lying in the heather, arms spread wide to caress the evening air,
once again...once again to feel young as if the day was new,
just grasping for hope everlasting.

Between the comings and goings of the hours and minutes,
mere seconds can make all the difference;
a lover's kiss or a strangers kindness,
or a timely melting of the heart -
against all-odds, we continue on,
pondering and planning the next move,
we know we cannot stay long...
yet I will always find myself here again,
alone or not - back in the heather.

Heights

Out of breath

all this time, still the dust frays

about the evening sun,

like a blood-orange bloom

the desert plays on the spaghetti skies

and a quick hand traces 

old wisdom upon ground

and the crowd adores

Slice frozen time

juicy like popsicle villages 

spurting across the angry teeth

of the world

Return again to the scythes

in the fields we wilt

against the wind

atop the mountain-tops

we scramble down 

to the broken cliffs we cry

in the hurt

lifted to the heights at the end.