cranberry glades
savannah66
Posts: 65
She is a gossamer thread walking on a high ridge.
Up here, in the cranberry glades
at night the stars perforate
the sable arctic drapery,
blister her eyes.
The air up here is thin, stretched.
The ineffectual, sallow grass adorning the fields
masks a deeper mystery:
that one could sink in a soup of bog
at such an altitude, and vanish without a trace.
Even the trees are disparate spirits;
spinsters straining to hold back the
bridegroom wind, twisted arms that grasp
on only one side, forever longing. They sing
of the sins of omission, miscarriage.
Walking on this pale ridge,
even the cold is not enough to discern
how she could throw away happiness with both hands,
yet drink Mozart like wine.
Up here, in the cranberry glades
at night the stars perforate
the sable arctic drapery,
blister her eyes.
The air up here is thin, stretched.
The ineffectual, sallow grass adorning the fields
masks a deeper mystery:
that one could sink in a soup of bog
at such an altitude, and vanish without a trace.
Even the trees are disparate spirits;
spinsters straining to hold back the
bridegroom wind, twisted arms that grasp
on only one side, forever longing. They sing
of the sins of omission, miscarriage.
Walking on this pale ridge,
even the cold is not enough to discern
how she could throw away happiness with both hands,
yet drink Mozart like wine.
Post edited by Unknown User on
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Last night I dreamed I was walking on a high ridge, surrounded by limestone monoliths, and trees that had branches
that only grew on one side. The moon was no friend. I was acutely aware I could fall off the side of the mountain at any time, and felt almost compelled to succumb to the delicious vertigo that beckoned. Lord, the cranberry glades, when was I here last? Never mind, I know the answer. Walking around one of the silent stones, I found a large door of rotting oak, and went inside. I felt warm, electric euphoria, saw lightning bolt bridges of enormous expanse...in the middle of it all I saw a crude rope bridge swaying from some foreign wind. I walked across; slowly, deliriously, experiencing the same vertigo that had almost claimed me on the high ridge. Looking over the rope sides, I could not see the bottom of the chasm, just what seemed like miles of steel, glass and lightning stretching to the center of the earth. The cold sweat came almost like an old friend; the stink of remorse, regret.
Vertigo. The cold. The high mountains. The moon.
I cannot claim
however i love your work, I always have. I ALMOST don't even have to read it
but I could never do that.
there are times when the only manner in which I am able to be intoxicated is by the means of music
happiness is often thrown away due to the fascination incurred by the graceful and ghostly trails left lit in its wake like the retinal afterburn of lightning.
it is gorgeous as it tumbles from the cliffside eroded by either pride or the tears culled from some well within.
may you become a lodestone for happiness once again, and may it either direct your needle to guide your way or pause to attract yet another polarity.
love,
seta
Check your pm's...
have a lovely evening...
good night