Death Waits
Blackness stands vigilant
over a life you deemed
of no worth.
It sees your path laid out like a meandering stream,
soon to dry out in a dead valley gone from tall green
to wilted brown.
Patience is one of its skills for
the time it will take you
to slowly unwind from your mortal coil.
But unwind you will.
With a keen blade
as sharp as the sickle moon which hangs the sky,
it shall cut you from the
thread of life
you never cared
to hold.
By Philip Wardlow
 Life goes and goes…and nobody knows truly why….you can tell me you truly know…and I will nod my head and say yeah, I suppose, and not seek to dismiss cuz I’m like that – to each their own – …but deep inside I’m still surmising, guessing, hoping…I do believe there is some purpose to this space and time that we occupy. But could that be the secret? That we apply a purpose to begin with. Whatever the case, I believe Will, Desire and Intention have a power all their own..so we will see when all the lights are turned off and the door is finally locked tight and the sign is finally hung….what mysteries may await us after closing time. By Philip Wardlow |
A scream escapes me as my body goes to the nether
Disintegrating into grains of dust to fall up into the desolate and
be carried away down a flowing river of no direction.
My mind, my soul, and my will follow into the oblivion after;
each seperate from one another to divide themselves
into a thousand times a thousand
pieces…
My will holds tight to once piece of each as I flow
for I will not let them go
their seperate ways
I will not lose me.
For I am me.
I am me
forever.
by Philip Wardlow 2012
It swayed and creaked in
the wind.
The black silken crows
gave a queer semblance of
life to the tree,
Its bare branches covered
with a multitude perched like
the clinging of leaves.
It swayed and it creaked
and spoke of its sins,
Dark feathers fluttered,
as if to fool a passerby’s eye
that life still dwelt in the trees dead limbs.
None made a sound, not a caw
not a screech, no utterance did they speak;
for you see they had been given a task long ago,
to bear silent witness to the migration
of lost souls.
For no man,
should ever die alone.
So they perched and they preened
as the body swayed and creaked
on the rope below.
by Philip Wardlow
Warrior’s Quilt
My fortune has forsaken me for I am stranded in this cold wasteland
next to a flickering flame about to die.
All I have are my fears, a quilt to keep me warm and the labored breath of life.
The thick heavy fabric enfolds me in warmth from my head to my feet.
It is a comfort as I try to calm my restless mind and fall
to sleep.
I feel warmer yet still as I pull it closer to me in the night.
This warmth seems to come from a different place as I hold
the quilt to me tight.
Like a close friend it is a barrier against the bitter cold that wants
to suck the life from my chest with every stolen breath.
I began to reflect in my minds wanderings
Does this quilt have a story, a past to explore?
I picture strong delicate hands, patient hands, cutting and sewing in
endless hours to reach an end.
A quiet anticipation to see the job done with the reward of creating
a piece of art as a gift for a friend.
Did her mind wander while she worked? Did she daydream and get lost
in a world of mystery of her own design while her fingers danced from
seam to seam with the passage of time?
From mind to hand, to hand to cloth, did these wanderings, these dreams seep
into the fabric?
Is that why I feel as I lay on this cold hard ground like I could float up to the
dark heavens above me and touch the stars that twinkle down.
Is this quilt that I’m wrapped in imbued with a magic that I cannot see for it seems to
be reaching inside me and guiding me to a place where I can be free.
I dream of a woman and see her smile. Is she the one who has sewn this quilt for me?
Am I now part of her wanderings and fancies?
Is that why my heart is so light?
Is that her embrace I feel as the quilt consoles me in the night.
My mind is not restless , my body is at peace.
I lay wrapped in my quilt next to a fire long
gone out and forever asleep.
by
Philip Wardlow
undone in spectacle
she writes
A Wheel of Time Community
Mind • Body • Life
Dating, Poetry, and More
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
poetry, fiction, and musings
Poetry
Erotic Fantasies
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Design, and Pottery
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants. It's all about the books we read
weird alien 👽
undone in spectacle
she writes
A Wheel of Time Community
Mind • Body • Life
Dating, Poetry, and More
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
poetry, fiction, and musings
Poetry
Erotic Fantasies
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Design, and Pottery
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants. It's all about the books we read
weird alien 👽
Ain't no rest for the Wicked - Philip Wardlow - The real and the sensual sides to life in all its facets.. 