Tuscan Moors Sway

In the fields of caterpillar reeds
Innocuous seeds release
Their tiny beaded griefs,
Inside these tuscan sienna moors,
Heathers undulate in ethereal sways
Until the stagnant rising dawn.
Hemispheres painted in lavender shades
Donned by the creeping fade.

The withered stems bend,
Shrivel up, and then
Give in;
Turning into mulch.


Am I Awake

A mess of words stuck to each other
Barely making any sense.
Was I that much of a mess back then.

Was I delirious
Am I awake now?

Then why do I
Still feel disoriented.
I feel my way through
A lightless woodland,
The rough bark
On my finger tips,
The crunching of crud
Underneath my feet.
My sensory receptors
Respond to stimuli,
But these things,
They don’t exist.
I try to find an exit
But can’t seem to find it.
From every direction
Trees of this Garden
Obstruct my way.
I tilt my head
Towards the heavens
Searching for the moon
But the specked sky is hidden
By shadeless canopy greens.

A lightning bolt strikes;
I then realise
I am naked.