Always Morrow

Come what dust. Rest there at the end of yesterday, upon roses and cold stone. End then that Lord of Verdigris and Rust. Dented helm, battered mail, sword that will nevermore be hefted. Let him lie as the road goes on. Through what ill, dark woods, past what frosted moor. There beyond alabaster cliffs. Another realm, another sea, one more shore, one more tide, one last ship. Come what may, in that always morrow. A golden torch that signals dawn, over the heathers and rolling green. Across there, and furthermore, and never look back at what dust had settled the … Continue reading Always Morrow


That sledge of morn. Falls, the day anew, toil, sweat, and the hours yet to come. Early light and lanterns have all gone out. Fall upon mud and field, harvest, and the night comes far too soon. Cold, bitter, wind, less mirth, less the wonder. Sky naught but some gazeless lament. Turn back to earth and soil. Turn, and the sun to beat upon every back and neck within its stare. Continue reading Monday


Hither upon what hint of winter. Not of sky, not upon its wind. That of what touches memory, and every hour upon the glass. Falling sand, cold. Moments feel icy, bare. Forward to that pale landscape. Forward, and less the dreams of warmth. Her hand in mine. Raindrops at one time, and a kiss stolen while they splash. All but snow now. Much like fallout, the bare ashes of what once was. Watching all joy washed away, then fade to black.   – Mitsuo Tanaka Continue reading Hazy


What specter visits me in these hours? In those I should hold her, alas not. What words should be whispered, yet held so tight in my chest. Stayed, as though held under ice. What dream would have me cry so much. There, in silence and dark, in my slumber she should be. May it then be the one time I hold her hand, the one time I look into her eyes. One kiss, and to part, yet this specter visits me all the more. – Mitsuo Tanaka Continue reading Break