Featured art by Katerina Plotnikova. Click title image to visit her studio.

 

 

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Phaeleh “Reflections”

 

 

 

 

Peacemaker
My heart was at war when I met you
So how could I ever forget the impression you left when you swept through my chamber
The resident stranger

 

Had I slept through the dream
As night protests grew
Then I never would have seen you come to light
Or been invited to delight in the reprise of beckon
Blessed of second sight
.
Fight or flight
All slights in spite
Felt disinclined to either
Life had been a code that I had grown stiff to decipher
In your eyes
I felt like the most homely of insiders
Would have opened up my throat
To feel the grope of your incisors
Would have died
Before I fought
Before my wings be singed and scorched
Upon the fringe of every thought
Were reasons to proceed free of precaution
Everything was blown into proportion
Chest heaving breathlessly
Rising and falling
I paused then inexorably
Silent yet zestfully
Seen through exceptionally wide eyes applauding
The dawn mists reflected me true

 

Had I slept through the dream
Then I never would have seen my shadow through
Had I walked a path less narrow
Then my shackles would have bound me
Had I lacked a sense of purpose
Then my burdens would have ground me
Had I comprehended duty
Then I never would have ventured forth attentive to the beauty all about me
.
Faith bled devout
Through the cracks in my boundaries
Profoundly I felt then relief
My leathered heart at measured ease
Remembered of the leisured breeze
Midst fallen feathers rising keen on all ascending crest of leaves
Had I slept through the dream
Then I never would have seen my shadow true
And I never would have dreamed the scene foreseen of ceaseless avenue to you

 

Peacemaker
See me clean through
My heart was war torn when I met you
So how could I ever forget the impression you left when you swept through my chamber
The resident stranger
.
My final breath mused
Dresses scented perfume
So how could I ever see sheltered your bloom
My resident stranger
I see you clean through
Since the dawn mists reflected us true

 

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

 

 

 

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