Before the End

                                            Moths in the shape of one moth
                                            hang from the eaves of the porch.

                                            They break pattern at night
                                            then return by day to stay in sight.

                                           The season turns soft late this year,
                                           noticeable only in the darkening
                                         
                                           of the dune grasses and bay water.
                                           Pale moon peaks through woolen skeins.

                                           Inside we ignore the pain and failings.
                                           We make each day work as close
                                         
                                           as we can to the one before, yet each
                                           ends with fewer words and less breath.

                                           The inner pain burns to ash the recent past.
                                           Yesterday's meals with local news blur to fog.

                                           In the midst of these doldrums, suddenly a passion
                                           fires to a vivid lucid state that lights this day.

                                           A laughing  moment of remembrance kept
                                           before falling back to earth a soft dull gray.

                                           Outside the multi-moth figure waivers
                                           as the light shivers and life begins to fade.

                                            © Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011 * All Rights Reserved
                                            Posted for OpenLinkNight @ dVersePoets on 10/18/2011

Blue Butterfly

I am led to a pool by a blue butterfly.
The path there runs uphill through struggle and sorrow.
At the pool I seek answers within its deep sky;
I am given a sword which I'll only borrow.

The path next continues through struggle and sorrow.
With a blue butterfly to lead me and guide me,
I carry the sword gift which I'll only borrow;
in its blade lies the truth shining bright here beside me.

With a blue butterfly to lead me, it guides me
to the halls of Tuatha de Danann, magically lit
by the truth of this blade unsheathed here beside me.
In the glade of the moon Dúnedain again sit.

From the halls of Tuatha de Danann, magically lit,
to the woods of warlords dried dark with spilled blood.
By the glade of the moon, Dúnedain again sit
while invoking the spell to cleanse sin with a flood.

In washed woods of warlords dried dark with spilled blood,
rain would flow to blue pools that reflect the deep sky,
peace invoked by a spell that cleansed sin with a flood;
I return with the sword and the blue butterfly.

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2011* All Rights Reserved
Blue Butterfly by beachanny

Posted for Pantoum at dVersePoets FormForAll on Thursday 9/7/2011

Join us there for a discussion and challenge of a Pantoum