Christian Thomas Scott

By nightfall did we reach,
And so begin our destination.
As though I would, at least, assume it was a stable course.
Though unsteady was the travel.
...

Words are but a shallow well,
With strength to delve within their source
Of power, in the heart and tongue, and long continuations.
Removing logic from the mind,
...

Slipping sand dunes, ice cold sundown,
Windblown waves and soft-streaked bay.
I liked when you were better off and
Loving tiptoe tempest tales,
...

Let us break our bread with travelers,
And feast on ashen ruin in the face of stolen graves.
To them a nighttime stroll is nothing more than simple footsteps,
A candle in the cradle of the sea.
...

Tilted over sky and earth, as but a passing,
Till in grace and in an instant,
You have overthrown the river, as
A hiding place and refuge, for the lost.
...

Some branches,
Worn with intermittent hands,
Have grown sturdy. In order that
Time might be spent
...

Presently, they followed bard and whim,
To evanescent tangles, spritely tales.
Bought with fortunes,
As a little time is worth the grain of deep.
...

The bitter chill of icy breath
Sweeps lightly over passing day
And marking willful sadness takes
The new approach of scornful daze.
...

The feet that pad on mossy earth
Through gilded forests, rimmed with green,
The shadows flit through sunlit air,
To dance upon the frigid streams.
...

When the ground is singed in summer,
By the spears of light, and those that miss
The other orbs encircling:
They are not too close behind.
...

Bend ourselves over the
Water, where the heat blends through
The down, and shines upon us as who
We are, and who we rippled be.
...

After the frost left us, and all that shines
gave birth to new light,
We held our hands together, in the orchard.
And every day the dying western sky
...

Footsteps
Echo
Murmur
Echo
...

There but a few words in this revelry,
That can wring the heart of its joyful tears,
And the saddest song that a man can sing,
Is the song of a man with no more years.
...

The seven wheels were turning on the sand,
And two were tight as iron's hold on blade,
The other two were led by strict command,
And two lay rounded, softened while they're made.
...

Then the gentle falling,
Leaves among,
That which all day,
You have done as just another,
...

The moon has no less radiance than the sun,
Yet here in cloudless night is masked away,
By silken strands of silver spread upon,
The starry sky and masterful array.
...

Paint my words upon the canvass of sky,
So all who look to heavens may believe,
That though I knelt beneath clouds of night,
I simply held no voice to calm the seas.
...

The golden hue and wisps of vibrancy,
Reverberates upon the scattered trees,
And flickers of our own fragility,
Are hov'ring in the soft and sunlit beams.
...

Our time upon this fleeting earth shall fade,
And fading shall our lives be naught but dust,
For all our deeds and dreams shall be unmade,
And turned to fabled tales of wanderlust.
...