The Neighbours Lights.

When the lights had all gone out, my neighbour called.

I looked around my home and found two lightbulbs left. One was bright like the morning star, the other just a dim little one.

I took a candle and the bright one over with me, it would give the needed light into the modernly designed home. The little one would do for this small old cottage I dwelt in. For now.

We lit the candle as I entered, held hands to support each other and fumbling along we reached the place we thought was best to place it.

It lit up as expected and the light filtered well into other rooms if you kept the doors open.

In the new dawn just rising, I watched from my window as the incandescent light could now be replaced with mornings rays streaming down from heaven.

When night would come once more, my neighbour, now a friend, would be able to trace back along our steps and flick a switch to illuminate the dark should they miss the sign of nightfalls arrival. Occasionally they ask if I have another candle.

Sometimes I sit under the dim light, the little one, happy in my ramshackle space and yet desire too, to feel the familiar radiance I see now shining from my friends home.

They said I must come around one day. I see silhouettes cast by the bright light, moving about a lot and I don’t like to intrude.

So I wait; I know my friend is busy, seeing clearer now and filling rooms with even brighter lights! I also know they look out the window too sometimes when the moon is out late, and see the light of the little one, still shining.

IW

Advertisement

See

Instagram. Just saying. 😉

The Story A Muse

You fall in, your hand pulling on mine.
Crashing through the glass walls between our eyes.
Shards lay under where we walk, shells along the shore piercing flesh until tears form the waves that caress mornings cold coarse sand. We stand, you and I, hand in hand walk a mile or two or three more than we should. We swim naked, the scars of aeons beneath our layers removed. Lay down in a breeze just close enough for the tips of our fingers to touch; far enough for our sight to be obscured by the dazzling sun when looking face to face. We are only breath.
My breath, just like those waves further out where we dared to drift, is the silence of your soul roaring in its life just there on the other side of where white horses reach there peak. You went on. In my mind I saw you smile as your ass moved side to side until the water covered it’s curve caressing you as I wished just once to do, and carrying you. You faced me, laughed, sang, thanked me for my time. This time, I saw your smile no longer hidden.
In you is the grain of my canvas, covered in my sunset painting, drowned out of my picture alluding to delusions at midnight. Eluding your spell, an illusion; You under the that spell of life pushing, pulling, there. There, just like you imagined. There, just like you wanted. There, in the deep blue sea. The sea I told you would spit you out one day when she had swallowed you whole; when she was done with you. When you were; when you and she knew her roar could no longer devour you. Here onto now warm sand as the sun begins to fade. Back on the shore, walk across this piece of earth weathered to fine grains? Touch the fingers of the old bones softer now, still, like the golden sand upon which you would stand?
Take them. Place them into the water and let them taste where you have been? Stand again for a moment, naked, up to your waist in the water. There, at sunset in the water I will hold every part of who you are and have become. There, until the sea is no longer tears.

IW