Night Mare
by Jonas Hyde
Twilight steed,
with hooves of passion and fear,
she pulls the carriage of my dreams,
into the imprisoning field of torment and denial.
Stallion of my eve,
she ne’er comes ‘pon my whistle,
instead timing her gait for when my soul is weary,
shrouded in the darkness of life’s damnations.
Mare of my night,
I beg her to leave me be,
enter my dreams ne’ermore,
and release me fore’er from my eternal nightmare.
Holiday Tears
by Jonas Hyde
Eyes open,
as if a rising sun,
over a horizon of anguish,
of sorrow.
“Daughter do not frown,
for on this day
the family is as one,”
he whispers softly.
“But father I weep,
I cry,
not for the moment I have,
but for the time when it will surely end.”
And so it goes,
the conversation once more,
as it always has before,
truth rarely spoken.
The snow has fallen,
and gifts are done,
but the scene is far from idyllic,
framed within the pain of our lives.
Holiday’s eve brought with it,
hurt,
anger,
as every night ‘fore
So I hold her close,
my arms wrapping her
in a paternal blanket woven for a lifetime,
of warmth and protection.
Together we pose,
heads behind the masques of seasonal cheer
hiding simply,
our holiday tears.
Solace’s Song
by Jonas Hyde
Eve’s satellite winks her eye,
through and through,
the pinhole of her child’s darkness,
in point,
the veil,
that cloaks the nightmare woven of fear,
of sorrow.
The girl stands clouded,
bosom pounding at the edge of the storm,
the fine line where the rain falls just ‘fore her feet.
Draped in the nurture of her lover’s strength,
she steps.
Saline pelts from the sky,
droplets of worry,
regret,
hurt,
anguish.
With each stride,
the storm’s edge recedes further.
The calamities,
and tragedies,
of life,
and love,
hold nary a grip,
held at bay,
by her lover’s rapport.
Shortly she stands,
‘pon the cliff’s line,
at the precipice of choice.
“Weep no longer,
my dearest,
my love,”
he sings gently to her.
“Let the fears of yore,
remain merely memory,
whilst the spark of our souls guide you forth,”
Cursing caution,
she withdraws the trammels of incertitude,
and leaps.
The vehemence,
the madness,
the fury true,
of life’s tempest,
rages against her,
tho’ scathes no more.
The burthens that held her back,
plunges to the void,
whilst her soul surges,
soaring on the whispered wind,
of Solace’s Song.
