August held me directly
with palms to the sky
drenched in insanity,
I fell to my knees.
Aching with tomorrow's sorrow
brought forth
by the asunder of yesterday;
Today the Pagan sun
Shines beyond thine trees,
Together dancing with the raven's frock
Entangled amongst the tides
I bleed not for salvation;
Her beauty weeps
with desperate mourning;
dry them with the lilac's
that consume the very art of creation;
I come forth, not for purity,
but for resistance of deliverance;
I hold no tenderness upon thine heart,
your words seem perverse in the ambiance
of January's freeze;
Midwinter feels harsher than ever,
without thee.
©Ashley Leslie 2013
