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a tear trails my cheek
following yours on their path
to earth, and
flowers
passion's vines once crept,
trapped, 'long staid old walls ('til you);
now 'midst rubble bloom
☼
mountain morning, 'midst
grey mists and layered myst'ries
hide ghosts
of her gaze
☼
mountain twilight fades,
a bird's song echoes nearby;
pond'ring the day's warmth
☼
your very image
begs sensuous banquet
(fiery feast indeed)
☼
seated in silence
solitude surrounds me
still, sensing you near
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To me, the fascinating thing about haiku is the forced economy
of words. It necessitates a clarity above and beyond that required of a writer with unlimited paper, ink and vocabulary.
I am certainly no master of the form, but it is an evocative exercise I embrace with passion, nonetheless....
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