The solid reflection of a face on water
Gives way to the gentle, flowing beat
Splashing across the surface.

The disruption, though only for a second,
Tears the image into tatters
And only the eyes remain

Those solid

Demand from the future what they can’t take
From the past.


The Silent War

Blades of grass
Tackling one another
After a long, deep slumber
Beneath a starry blanket
Soaked in dew from the effort
Of parrying each gentle blow
Egged on by the flow
Of a gentle breeze
Made to battle until Winter
Or until a greater threat arrives