Struck

And it struck. 

The palm across the face,

Flesh on flesh,

Stinging.

It struck,

A massive blow

Straight to the heart.

Tearing, pulling away the veins.

Blood gushed,

Pouring all over 

Red and gruesome.

Pain. Numbed in pain. 

Darkness, as the blood thinned.

Light faded and pain over powered. 

And, death struck. 

         - Robes of a Muse

Candle lit nights

Candle lit nights emerge

As we plunge into darkness once more.

Memories from a distant past

Of mosquitoes and sweaty eves creep.

Computers and virtual gatherings end,

The mobile, our best friend, 

Till the battery lasts. 

The yellow rays of this artificial sun

Shines, sending loving shapes on walls.

It's calming. 

A sedative to the chaotic mind.

Faces come together, shadowed.

The mind stills, it calms,

Sitting in the candle lit night. 

        - Robes of a Muse

Love in Times of Corona

I long to hear your voice now

And feel the warmth of your touch.

I am lucky to see your eyes 

But once a week,

Thanks to innovative technology.

How I long to kiss you,

Wrap my fingers in yours

Feel your body, next to mine

Just for a little while. 

Many miles separate us

Yet corona makes us far apart.

Meet you when, I do not know

For now, 

I wait with memories. 

       - Robes of a Muse

The Lion's Gate

The stars shine bright

Waiting for the sun and moon to align.

Energies are strong tonight

As our world's collide.

The countdown has begun

For the live show of hearts.

No clowning around for fun

As does come the round of darts.

Come together,

We do in our hearts and mind.

Love, as gentle as a feather

Cradled to our bossom and kind. 

- Robes of a Muse

The Albatross

Perched on the high mountain

On an isolated rock,

Sat he.

Watching the world beneath him,

Eyes, attentive to activity. 

Planning his next meal.

The water flowed

Smoothly down the slope,

In a cascading waterfall.

What a breathtaking sight,

The mountain, the waterfall

And the Albatross. 

         - Robes of a Muse 

The Giver

Money, time, space
It mattered not.
The giver did face
In this thickening plot. 

As the moons fade,
And the giver aged,
She grew somewhat afraid
That she would be forever caged.

Time and again,
The angels reassured
That it wasn't in vain. 
Through these words, the giver was cured.

- Robes of a Muse