Teardrops on Her Skin

Teardrops on Her Skin . . .

 

My lady touched me softly

With tears upon my skin

An’ yet they’re not deep sorrow

Though pain soft lies within

Brief the parting, just for now

Soft peace and hope begin

Stand upon the threshold

And the world dropped from view

I looked into those searching eyes

They were looking back at me

Time stood still in each others arms

As we lost ourselves within

So Lady hold me gently

I know you’ll hold me true

Stay within my arms

So I can hold you too

Ask the Gods to speed the time

Fly swiftly through the days

I carry you within me

I left teardrops on your skin.

 

Banfiadh-Wolfthought2007

 

 

Thought = Form

Thought = Form

Life begins.

Dreams Fade

Hopes die.

People change

Hearts cry

Souls sigh.

Death comes.

 

And the sun sets, crimson.

 

Wind blows.

Grass grows

Leaves rustle.

Rain falls

Thunder tolls

Rivers run

 

And the sky dawns, iridescent.

 

Mountains rise

Stone crumbles

Sand sloughs

To soil

Trees grow

 

And the leaves dance, merrily

 

Stars are born

Planets drift

Through time

Suns fade

 

And the universe floats, unimaginably

 

We live for tomorrow and lose the day.

We worry always as life slips away.

We fret for what we have not.

And forget what we have.

Tomorrow is never here.

And you have this day to live.

 

Some days never change, some never stay the same

Music dances lyrically and the song remains the unchanged.

Life passes in bits and pieces, moments frozen in time.

Is there a need for tomorrow, to wake again?

 

Banfiadh –  Wolfthought5/2018

 

 

 

Eternal Muse

Eternal Muse

 

One foot in tomorrow and one in yesterday.

The passage of the ages never seems to fade.

Strewn across the vastness like ripples in the shade.

I see in all the memories the moments we have made.

 

My eyes within the heavens and feet fast on the ground.

Each tear or toll of laughter passes without sound

Upon my inner eye does play the memory of you.

Two souls softly touching, an extraordinary view.

 

Within me burns eternal sun tempered by your moon.

Born within the vastness of creations dawning tune.

We are lost across the cycles of times eternal tide.

We’ve strolled in meted chaos, quite often side by side.

 

Heart within the heavens and soul on forever’s shore

Our passage has spawned legend, lost in days of yore.

Born within the darkness two lost and wondering lights

Alone in isolation until we heard each other’s cry.

 

Children of the starlight, we are travelling this song,

This journeys crossed forever and continues to go on.

As we were born in nothingness strewn with stars anew.

Life is lost and empty without a touch of you.

 

Banfiadh –Wolfthought2018

Deceptions of The Heart.

Deceptions of The Heart

I’ve asked the Gods to free me from your presence in my mind.

Cried for quiet numbness to block away the time

I’ve wished the walls around me, wrought iron to the core.

Thrown my heart within them so I can’t feel you any more.

 

I seek you through the darkness of my desolated soul

Cross the threads lying broken within this endless void.

I hunt across my memory to turn you from my mind,

For desire lies shattered locked in boundless time.

 

I rage against you now and then to hide the hurt I feel.

Crush each spark of laughter shared by you and me.

Curl in the cold darkness that lies inside of me.

I’ve wished away forever, though I cannot count the times.

 

I beg the gods to free me and unchained, my spirit freed.

I’ve hunted down your memories and cast them in deception’s seas.

I‘ve wished the hope to silence while crushing every spark

And I dance upon the jagged edge of this shattered heart.

 

Yet I seek you in the darkness and hear your silent cries.

I feel your breath upon me as never begins to die.

I see your face behind my eyes, your touch upon my skin.

Sleepless as I memorize the contours of you once again.

 

I sought across the tracks of time searched both high and low

Driven by a needing of which I didn’t know.

And when it grows the darkest as I cast you from my heart

I wake anew each morning as it all begins again.

 

I’ve loved you through the ages across the universe divine,

and searched across the timeless plain to free you in this time.

Maybe in tomorrow in its never dawning grace,

I’ll open eyes upon you safe in your embrace.

 

Banfiadh – Wolfthought2018

The Spell of Being

The Spell of Being

I am without time.

I am all times.

I am a speck of dust

I am a mountain of stone.

I am without form.

I am all forms.

I am the last Spark of Hope

I am the Inferno of Creation

I am the unseen Past.

I am the unknown Future.

I am the soft sigh of Death

I am the gale of Chaos

I am without Life

I am without Death

I am a silent Tear

I am an unbroken Wave

I am Spirit without form

And I am Form in Spirit

I am not

I am.

 

Banfiadh-2017

Oh my . .

Dust . . . cyber dust everywhere.

Started digging into papers and efiles and folders to see what I can find between writing new stuff and working on other projects.

I hadn’t realized the number of unpublished bits and pieces I have left laying around.

Somewhere, most of them are on physical paper too. Or the seed of the thought that transforms from a fleeting word painted image into something else.

Poems in metre, poems that create their own cadence. Furious diatribes and heady heartfelt schisms.

Scattered wantonly across my hard drive.

All while trying to tease new material from behind the veils of my inner scratch pad . . .

 

Interlude . . .

An excerpt from life.

Since I started this site, it has been an on again off again experience.

Until recently I lived in a situation which often hindered my creativity or desire to express in line, color or in word.

Often when I couldn’t craft and create, I could vent or rant, which is why I opened Ravensong – because I hesitated to hybridize the artist, with the cynic.

With a change in living situation, income source and finally, the “downtime” from the rat race my nature desires as an artist and the creature I am, my mind has started scribbling again, doodling across the vast empty canvass of my inner sight.

And thus here we are. Fresh new poetry, new art turning over in my mind and much to my delight, rummaging through my files bits and pieces that I have dusted off to share here.

Winter is often my best time as a working person to craft. It’s rather difficult to play outside when all you see is dark, and more dark. But it is fertile rich soil for the creative child, so off on my artistic tricycle I roam, to see what I can see.