Done Days

Done Days

Sour eclipse drips down the aerials –
the wind minces up some holy words;
sticks them to a calendar, pinches
the sweet misery, like keg powder over lily of the valley,
seasons sleeping endings unraveled into erythrean sins,
measured, spoken about, called to memory –
blue shame in the golden garden,
the antelope’s tongue on the surface of the water,
birds of a feather, shrieking – unapologetic,
invoke it and call it
a bedroom, call it a church,
the stones rustle in the seed of sanctuary:
come cold; do lonely –
every winter will soon root wet,
(you too)
in the yawn of light
come bold, come sorry – all
eternityโ€™s ferocious prisoners
wandering the path of night,
(will count less and less)
blankets of bloom eating the dusk warm
(dots on the sky)
by the dark cover
of eden –
all the meadows
naked
and accounted
of forget-me-nots

*showed first in Suburban Witchcraft Magazine, Issue 2

~ by Oloriel on September 6, 2022.

10 Responses to “Done Days”

  1. Wow! What a great opening line, Mirjana. Rest was good too. ๐Ÿ˜‰

  2. Beautiful lines ! Well shared .๐Ÿ˜Š๐Ÿ˜Š๐Ÿ‘Œ

  3. โ€œa bedroom, call it a church,โ€ powerful stuff! Your words bring tears to my eyes and Iโ€™ll tell you what; your writing and apple wine is just what the doctor ordered. Iโ€™m a musician and even music canโ€™t touch and heal my soul like your words. Absolutely beautiful, mโ€™ friend. x

  4. Beautiful

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