screen-shot-2017-05-11-at-11-56-29-amA summer sun, summer moon sonnet

Even the jasmines and roses in their pale silence suffer,
the sun twists blood and water from the swirling wind
and blisters the bones of exhausted lives that die
in its ruthless blaze. The fragrance of midnight consoles us.

This golden moon is a flame that burns the eyes;
the forest’s breath is a fire, reducing life to embers,
the darkness gasps, and falls to rest the aching of desire,
the sun does not relinquish its harsh and deadly trance.

And then a little jewel sings across the sky
and sends a little breeze down through silent leaves
until the souls that were fallen start to rise
filled with the fragrance and awakened by the light

That soothes their wasted bodies, revives their broken hearts,
and restores their fallen spirits with a melodious magical mist.