Panacea of Shadow

Shadows dance and argue deep within the cold cave.  Some shout “No object.”  Laughing they whisper, “Fire isn’t real”.   Other shadows, in folly attempt to describe the fire they have never seen.  Yet, some know.  Yet, some feel.  Their object is the bridge to the fire.   They hold it close to the warmth and peace.   Invisible strings tug and pull, some shadows toward the fire.  Wispy fingers of grey push away the dusty wall.  Do shadows seep out and rise from the stone?  Or perhaps, are they only there for a season? Some shadows dig their claws deep into the wall, lodging dirt into temporary fingernails.  Denying their object, laughing at the notion of a Fire, they embrace only the shadow.  One day Fire gathers up objects who’s shadows have placed their backs to the stone.  They are carefully wrapped in a golden blanket of light and placed in the blue sky.  The shadows left behind still cling to the wall deep within the abyss of the cave.   Shadows with dry throats try to drink up the darkness, but without fire, only objects remain.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

Haiku Dreams

Problems of the day

transform into wisps of light

dreams dissolve in the night

Logic is lost, in the swirl of night dreams.  Silent moments when the brain heals, dancing carelessly in gray shadows.  Hours pass.  Warm yellow sunlight spills through the frosty cold glass of a bedroom window.  Exceptional tales of the night are lost in waking moments.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

Warm Tea In Mountain Rain

Fall wrapped itself around the mountains in a cold misty blanket.  Rain wept for the lost summer season.  Emily wore her oldest and most comfortable pajamas.  The kids had already gone into school with their rain jackets and rubber boots.  Her husband carried the soft memory of her farewell kiss to start his day.  She was finally alone.   Her eyes now caressed the items carefully placed in the home office.  A small red ball played music on the shelf.  Its black wire finding her ipod.  Norah Jones and Keb Mo warmed the air in the room against the clear cold rain tickling the window.  She took another sip of warm peppermint tea.  The sharp flavor danced with her senses.  The keyboard, and laptop conquered all of the available space on the wooden desk.  She sighed, breathing in the moment as she pulled out her notebook.   A delightful moment of writing drank her up as smooth and focused as the storm outside.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

The night I Disobeyed the Demon

Pressing the button to silence the radio, I drove on in the thick darkness.  The road like a frozen river of stone.  Lights like lost souls drifting, steady towards home.  I asked my Creator to sit with me, I felt as if he was listening to me in the empty passenger seat.  With tires howling and wind lashing at my car I asked for his help.  I said I was sorry for telling him last, for fighting on my own, for saturating in evil for so long.  I drank a tall cold glass of water that night as I went to bed.  As I slept, a swirling and glowing microscopic lightning danced peacefully in my brain.   Glowing threads, like little fingers, clean my mind.  They are pulling a sticky putrid sludge loose from my memory.  An angry storm of black clouds and red lightning falls out of my ear as I sleep.  Scales covered in oil.  A screaming angry invader writing in protest.  Rendered powerless in its eviction, it falls.  Shadows rule minds that choose to stand with backs turned toward the light.   A yellow warm listening light, when called upon, when unblocked, burns demon flesh to ruin.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert