Setting Suns

Clouds crawl like vines across the darkening
sky absorbing hues of a setting sun
retreating past a foreign horizon.
A lone woman stands beneath its growing
mass with head tilted back to see its forms.
The wind dances around her legs and soars
towards the majesty of the Lady
in the Moon. She envisions a brighter
world just beyond her senses and soft touch.
Ignoring temptation, she wanders home.

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Again With The Lies

Sharp little nails I sleep on at night.
Each a regret, a nightmare, a lie.
 
Toss and turn on this prickly bed.
No comfort when doubt lives.
 
I push back, I fail,
Relapse into old patterns.
 
Rebellion has yet to set me free.
Caged by painful repetition.
 
Success is a bird that soars.
Failure the chain buried in the ground.
 
Darkness tugs on tired eyes.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
 
Again with the lies.