Good and bad, share a fate that is sad:
Demons of fire, angels of light,
course through the heavens in radiant flight.
A war of the centuries, the world's greatest fight.
It's the ying and the yang, the black and the white.
Good verses Evil, the classic phrase.
One wrecks havoc, the other saves.
Night and day are they, with differences that spark and flare,
one-on-one in a death locked stare.
Graying points of auspicious truce,
are cut by the blade of conflict until they snap and unravel,
fraying loose.
Battles of life, misfourtunes of strife.
The years may pass, but their quarrel will hold steadfast.
The sunrise of the morn and the winking moon of the night.
They differ in moods, but not in love's almighty sight.
Clouds gathering arcoss the sky,
Secluding the night from every eye.
Opening seams to the earth below,
raining from heaven a gentle snow.
Tumbling, spiraling, teasing the earth
It is the season's beginning of icey mirth.
Drifting through the night without bound,
ending their holy flight upon the ground.
Piling, growing, mountaining high,
dusting branches that never die.
The glow, the chill, the feeling they made,
It melts with the fire, forever to fade.
Dying bright ember
Chilled by December
Glowing with a hint of memory.
Spiraling ashes,
Sparks and flashes,
Smoking into the night's soul.
Stolen is the fire,
No fule of byer,
Frozen as if by ice.
Dead and gone,
Insiration not long,
Hollow is the spirit's fight.
Fire fierce in the night
as the soul that flickers bright.
Leaping, licking, dancing to the sky,
flaming in torant that shall never die.
No purpose to burn will dwindle the rage,
so shall it parish in the darkness of night's cage.
What shall be when there's nothing more than ash?
Death has come, life has past.
Snowlight Drive
Headlights beaming,
snowflakes gleaming,
driving on a winter's night.
Silent trail,
on which snow does sail,
sent on a peacful flight.
Slowly creaping,
while others are sleeping,
watching the drifting sight.
Snow-packed silence,
made with nature's allience,
bathed in the cool moonlight.
Calm decent,
may it never relent,
for everyone falls the fragements of white.
Brown vines of sweet spring gnarled in fists,
spiraling corkscrews from their deadened hides twist.
Once-living, soft-green leaves,
autumn's fire has been breathed.
Sagging beneath the looming gray,
they skitter to the ground in seasonal decay.
Quietly the months have withered and passed,
'gainst the winter what has been cannot last.
Dying land stretches forth and waits,
leaving their existence solely to the fates.
Silently, softly, gently from the clouds,
scattered is the renewal of the earths' changing shrouds.
Laying down a purified path,
snow ornaments the land in an icy wrath.
Dripping every tree with daggers of ice,
lacing what has died for every living eye to entice.
Frigid the air is purposely kept,
preserving the beauty the clouds have wept.
Winds dance to a haunting melody,
sweeping the white ashes for all to see.
Quiet is the transformed countryside,
listen to the secrets it can confide.
Whispering in the ice, seen in the wind,
their message is screaming in silent din.
Can you hear what it is they say?
Can you see who it is that shall betray?
Can you discover the oracles before they melt to gray?
Watch and wait for the prophecies they wear ...
what tidings shall the season bare?
Falling Angels
Plummeting heavens down to the earth,
Brightest symbols that have fallen first.
Spiraling, arching as they decay,
To think God's light they once would display.
Unseen to the most alert eye,
Dropping to the ground they shrivel and die.
Vapors of grace upward stream,
Returning as stars to forever gleam.
The perfect had soured,
struck down they showered.
Enhanced stars in the sky,
constant reminders glinting high.
Tormented cries ring for those who listen,
From the angels that shall never again be risen.
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