Light Bouncing

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Sometimes the colour of your world

changes back to its truest of hues,

and all you can do is close your eyes and smile,

with the light bouncing on and off your face.

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Nom de Plume

My wings bear my name,
and my ember within.
Lifting me higher than eyes can see.
Carrying my ears beyond reach of words.

My name holds the storm’s barrage,
to shatter watchtowers of the wicked,
and rogue waves to pound their stones into sand.

My name holds sails of hope and secret seas.

If we are to be judged,
let it be by the ships we build,
the light we share
and the fearlessness with which we stand.

Let your name be the ship you launch
and the tide you raise.

Let your name be candle wax upon tablecloth.

Let your name be your freedom, your cloak and your shield.

Let your name be your law, your land and your kin.

Quest for your name.
Court your name.
Oath bind your honour to your name.

Make love, raise children and birth worlds,
all with the beauty and worth
of your freshly forged name.

My name carries keys to doors unbreachable.

My name washes wounds
and quenches what water will not.

If one gift I could give,
it would be a name
to set the flames of your soul free
for your heart to sing.

My Words Are My Wings

My Words Are My Wings

(Mirrors of Souls Perceived)

If I took the time
and filled this space
to tell you who I believe myself to be,
would you find fool or monarch?

And would that be mine light or thine?
Are we not reflected in the mirrors of all souls perceived?

Is it the shape of the object
or the light reflected which determines its colour?
Are they separable?
Are you, separable from light?
Would you survive; formless in the void of isolation?

(Clip Not My Tongue)

Some days I’m of noble blood, living on foreign beaches.
Drinking fine wines and keeping company majestic.

Other days I’m homeless and hoping that next meal will soon find me.
I am my slave ancestors.
Beaten. Helpless.
Stolen. Used.

I’m a poet.
The truest I know how to be,
in my life and love and pain constant yet curving.
I’m a poet in my (cowardly) cravings.

Today I am free of you and I and all we’ve ever dreamt I ought to be.
For in my words are my wings
and you will clip not my tongue nor my fingertips.

If there be a constant in my life,
it’s that change will soon be upon me,
stealing me away to days high and days low;
ushering me nobly;
dragging me through dust.

Woodwright.
Dream Technician.
Wanderer and Artisan of Worlds.

Wordwright.
Revealer of Souls’ Truths.
Smith of Stars Unborn.

Shipwright.
Mariner of Skies Limitless.
Beholder of Self Unfolding.


Originally wrought for the About section of my page. Too fun not to share.
If I could fuck words, believe me I would.