So this is not exactly a part 2, but a follow-up to my previous post, A Sudden Visitor. The bluebird is never at his nest. Makes you wonder what kind of a parent he is, huh? He should be a spy instead. He seems to be an expert at not only concealing his presence but vanishing into thin air.
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Questions for everything,
A raised hand,
That yields nothing,
Sat sad said,
Nothing,
The empty room,
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So today I woke up to find a visitor at my door. Right next to the doorsteps of my home there is a light. Apparently, a bird liked the spot for his nest. Must be warmth from the light that’s so appealing, huh? Anyhow, I have yet to stumble upon the critter, but I did get a chance to take a picture of the eggs.
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The sword was an antique piece. It wasn’t cared for all these year, that’s for sure, but underneath the thick layer of dust and cobwebs was a beautiful ornamented blade that’s destined for the museum. Its blade was straight and quite short with a hilt that had a big pummel. The pummel itself seemed to be gilded and ornamented with various jewels or gemstones. Continue reading
The rain is falling,
But the sky is clear,
Her eyes are white,
But she sees you,
She smiled to you,
Her teeth pure white,
Her pale face,
Your heart begins to pace,
The fly is buzzing,
The spider danced in her hand,
Her dress of simple rags,
Her grin – your very end portends,
The shadow grows on the ground,
A pair of horns,
It dances around,
Your fate is set in stone,
To never see her, never more,
You run for home,
She’s already at the door,
She keeps on staring at you,
Thanks for reading,
Patrick Rain
Cloven shields littered the ground,
With the light rain striking the cheek,
Blood dripping from the gauntlets of the newly-crowned,
The air silent – still,
Enemy crawling in despair,
The struggle is won – no need to kill,
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Serendipity is hiding,
Awaiting with the intention – to surprise,
With a fated meeting,
No way it would take place,
Without meaning,
There has to be one,
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Thinking – like a river,
The current dragging you forward,
The ever-increasing momentum,
Hundreds of branching paths to chose from,
But no intention to stop,
Going from one idea to the next,
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The sly sullen sky,
Raining, crying,
Spoiled with a black dye,
Empty and squalid,
Humans home – locked,
Their eyes reflecting in the windows,
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The creaking from the attic,
It was subtle – light,
There was no one home,
It was an old, very old night,
The TV downstairs was on – rambling,
The windows were clouded – dark,
The doors open wide,
It summoned, “Hark!”
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