Linger

As I sir here on an empty bed listening to the howling winds and the rain, sleep is a dream away with smokes between my fingers. Thinking up train of thoughts, images of what I want to see dances on the white washed walls, wisp of familiar scent lingers in the air like a phantom of my fancies has just passed beneath my doors. It’s not an illusion or conscious indulgence of fancy of my somber mind, but like an unsettled soul, the smell has often passed through the airs of my empty room.

I would jump out of bed and check every bottles of perfume searching for the same smell that would just lingers just for a moment, but none of them smelled like it. It would come just as I seem to close my eyes for sleep or just sit here reading, I often expect a shape or a face to appear with it but it hasn’t shown itself yet, the smell is always feminine, but I am not intimidated by its aroma.

It has a sweet smell, fruity that I could almost taste it, its misty and mysterious it stirs my senses, it reminds me of someone I cannot recall. Its fresh and minty, it has an aroma of wildness to stir my mind, if it was in a bottle it’d be in a fiery yet subtle colored glass capped with a cone of poisonous vileness. It’s almost within my grasp but just as I turn myself into it would have gone just as it had come and I would then smell the moistness in the air with a dash of musky tobacco instead.

I wouldn’t think much of it until this night because the air is filled with the scent, I opened my eyes and just as so I turned around I saw…I swear its just emptiness I would never dare to fill. I would only share this, it’s a girl and she sure smells good, maybe the smell is her hair or her kiss or embrace I haven’t felt yet or her way of telling me the pleasure and pain of certain event. It might be a healing touch towards my inert angst that lifts the airs of depression. Whatever she is I am not to fear as she might be a girl bathed in oils of innocence who fills my thoughts in times of my loneliness.

zoslura© 2008

Colors, Shades and Hues.

Relative to the shades of black and white
I am a grey person.
I can’t be any other color,
Only the in-between in the spectrum
I am an Individual not a primary in the rhythm
You’d see me in the kaleidoscope
I exist in the light that passes through the prism in the clouds,
The after glow after the rainbow.
I am the mix in the palette of the masters,
The colors that makes strokes
The Impression on the canvases.
But what I bleed is Crimson,
That conjoins You and I,
You and I cometh before we were expected
Castor and Pullox being our stars,
We are what shades and hues are made of,
No matter how much they’d mix
They’d get only a shade in between the spectrum,
That would be You and I.

White Candles

I deem life as a white candle, when the wick is burnt it flares up and slowly the flame seems to fade before it constantly burns.

As the wax melts it flickers and changes its luminosity.

The flame attracts a moth like a good friends who remembers you only in summer

Sometimes the heat burns the moth into obscurity and other times the moth just forgets the flame when a wisp of wind blows out the flame,

It makes me wonder if the wind does a favor to the Moth or the candle.

Candles comes in colors, scented and moulds of shapes,

To ornate, to comfort and to light the dark

That’s exactly how people come!

I still prefer the stand alone white candle, whose purpose is to light,

As it burns out rather than fade away in the corner where it is lit.

Other candles just burns out its wicks and leaves behind the wax,

Only a reminder of its charm, which will be forgotten with time in the dark.