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