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Markings
Martin Ciesielski
My consciousness erodes,
Exposed,
Like a windscarred monolith,
Three lovers graffiti my surface,
Then flee
Into the painted rocks and lemonade sand
of the Badlands.
The weather of my moods
Changes cyclically,
Seasons beget time,
Using canyons and chasms only as a backdrop,
To document my ubiquity.
Paths become obsolete,
Duststorms swivel,
Erasing,
Only Orion remains,
As my guidepost,
Through the emotions and epitaphs
Of the Badlands.
FOR TEMPEST
Martin Ciesielski <
Seabirds circle,
Sensing the calm,
A mistral approaches,
Her name is Tempest...
Beware of this island where only seagulls and washed up souls will go!
She loves to search among the wreckage of the ocean shore,
Where the soft surf and reality collide,
Weaving her barefeet,
Between seaweed and deceit,
Collecting her broken hearts that remain on the beach like shattered seashells...
She surrounds you like a Mediterranean storm,
Offering refuge,
In her dark lighthouse,
Only her windswept promises have no tomorrows,
Just sand and sorrow,
Her name is Tempest
And she lives in a glass castle by the sea.
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