Rebirth

A walk in forest's autumn grave,
as sun sifts through an auburn haze
I picture myself buried here
amidst elven brethren.

Majestic red sentinals guard
paths of purity, heat ripples the air
blocking intrusion of ne'er do wells
trying to tempt nature's dryads.

A raven sky chases fire beams west,
blanketing heat, the forest at midnight cooling.
Sky adorned with pinpricks of light, glittering
and in the nigh whispers of invisible creatures.

Divest of loomed cottons, this body perfect,
flushes pink driving away ashen colored flesh,
as it shudders, awakening in silvery rays of moonlight,
a pale witness to a magical rebirth.

Rising into lustrous beams,
arms raised,

I am a Goddess of night.


© 2009 Mysty Johnson

A Writer's Quill


I am nothing but a quill
that feathers ink across the page
creating dreams and fantasies
for someone’s mute, lonely eyes.

A spill of ink that is like the solace
of an unhurried self caress
stretching over one's silken skin
with quiet whispers and sighs.

Plots thicken as blood settles
to pool where society's taboos
are erased and covered up
but flourish in most bleak lives.

Eyes are yanked across the page
following these words as climax
builds to a frenzy, eyes frantic
looking for entranced release.

I am nothing but a quill
that drips ink across a page.

©2008 Mysty Johnson

Tender

Tender


With tender grace
you heard the words,
recognized the desire
behind them
and ran away.

Did you think
the passion
was not for you?

Did you not see
the way your lips
were eyed or that
mine were
slowly licked
in response to you.

Do you not hear
the pounding
of my heart
whenever you are near?

You can't possibly
because you keep
running away
after every little peek
into your soul

and with tender grace
I let you.

©2009 Mysty Johnson

Beneath The Snow

Beneath the snow

Here come the melancholy rains
the sky that blooms
in serious shades of gray
towering high
and then sinking low
to become mist
when the rain stops
and the snow starts

wonder if the world
feels the same
like it 's wading through
a sense of expectancy
as if worlds should merge
in the stillness after the rain

majestic mountains
bear witness to forgotten
and sometimes embittered hearts
buried under winter snows
in the valley far below

the bitterness inside
that burns like lava
forging new acrid paths
rising, rising until it is
swallowed once again
and given a blanket fix
snow to cool the ire

becoming hearts buried
beneath the snow
awaiting a spring thaw.


©2009 Mysty Johnson

Haunted

Haunted

Your omnipresence surrounds me

invades my thoughts

heightens my senses

so that I see your shade

beside me, shimmering,

throughout the day

and I am driven by the desire

to reach out

and touch your warmth

but my hand passes through you

and I am given only

the illusion of heat.

So this is

what being haunted feels like.


©2009 Mysty Johnson