Echoes of Passion, Poetry by Boston Winters

I. A Needle, A Surface, A Break
I lay here; my body motionless
Tall, pale, sylphlike grass surrounds me
Outstretched like hands to the black-lit canopy.

A monochromatic Sakura branch
Blossoming in the pale light
Threading the needle of perspicacity.

Don’t lie to me
When the bough breaks
Just say so.

Yearning for sunlit days
You turn the lights down
An invisible space.

Tell me that you notice
Water to blood, flowing over sorrow days
You just hate to be alone.

This fervor
These fields of elation
Too quiet and loamy.

II. Steppes to Ascension
Tangled in your warm embrace
Aching for dawn’s break
You said, “you’d better believe it”.

Built a kingdom, a Calcutta
Tonight, the soul dearly departed
Tonight, you’ll have the answer.

My home of Nazareth
Branches of the emboldened divine
They won’t be missing you.

Dining on old encounters
You taste like new flesh
You took your leave.

My hands were not worthy.
Say my name again.
Jericho’s heart, may we switch.

My grave in life
Yours in death
I ache for your eyes, the way you breathed.

Boston Winters is a local rock and metal musician who sometimes writes poetry and short stories for fun.