Baggage fuel and just takeoff | Pindaric flights
©Zeno Photography

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Baggage fuel and just takeoff | Pindaric flights
©Zeno Photography
Ater Aurora. (Ode to My Midnight Dawn.)
My spirit lays faded— Addled and uncompleted. Strapped and seated. Saddled astride the horizon’s shadowed hilt. Held as hopeless witness to the unsheathing. Sol’s crescent sabre; Cosmic and commanding. Blade so blinding as it slaughters the sky. Darkest nights of woe, doubt, and shame; Slain by scimitars of celestial light. My soul bleeds humors— Spilled out and splattered. Bottled and filtered. Aged with my will then distilled for my quill, To ink out existential stanzas as lyrics somehow sung. A requiem for the even; by bells of twilight rung. Achlys’ hushed tongue on a blighted sigh. Luna’s tide slighted with oceans so confused; Yet, refusing to diffuse, desist, or abide. My mind sails adrift— Riding the flux of film, frost, and fog. Currents clogged by filthy blame and excuse; ‘Til I cascade over all sides with bereft stars for eyes. Seedlings of solace below; drowned and waylaid. Pandora’s plants immersed in boxes betrayed. Forsaken by naiveté and Nirvana’s timeless silt. Flooded and weeping. Waking and perceiving. © C.J. Lightbourn 2014