Cardinal

North to none, the void of night,
South to skies and gift of sight,
West to wings of worlds to write,
East to all engulfed by light.

North to numbers' ceaseless flow,
South to souls of winds ablow,
West to wax wicks, waning slow,
East to echoes doomed to grow.

North where naught is different daring,
South with sundered souls despairing,
West of time and words uncaring,
East––the end of world sans bearing.





The longer the winds blow, the further we travel toward unheard echoes, the more we yearn for that which we can never attain. So close, and yet so far...the path in the rubble, the arrow in the dust...the soul is but a sail, destiny but a destination...within the tempest that is time, we all seek our bearing.

One

The cobalt of a drowning sun,
The scarlet of a rising hope,
From ink to cloth to bone to rope,
Incessant tides to chase the night,
Repainted strokes, a two-way flight,
The splintered coffin paves the way,
For yet another to join the fray,
The ashen seed evokes rebirth,
A cycled soul within the earth,
Another death, another dream,
Another flood, a grave, a ream.
Another whisper from the core,
Another cycle, just one more,
Yet amidst a hundred, what is one?

Just one more...poem? Also, I will be adding my comments and descriptions after the poem from now on, as it keeps the entire framework contiguous and natural. After all, who wants spoilers?

In addition, I will be on vacation for the next week or so; thus, I might not be able to meet my 3-poem weekly quota...or perhaps I will, as a result of excessive waiting time. Who knows? I suppose you'll just have to wait for the next...one.