spiralsinshadows

[spiralsinshadows]

I’ve made breaking

a meditation

like counting fallen leaves

like picking poppies

like chewing old toffee

until the flavour’s gone

but it’s sticky

and it sticks to me

—Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

Sunset wears an apron of clouds

with april rains in her pockets

she leans over

a clever slant to her neck

with thimbles on her thumbs

she’s sewing daydreams into my head

—Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

Tragedy is the mind that devours itself—

and is never fulfilled

like a snake tasting its own tail

A cycle broken when the struggle has stilled

—Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

Does the dragonfly weep—

beneath the weight of her own doom

she sells her death for cheap

can you smell her perfume?

she wears your blood around her neck

smeared from the mosquito’s stomach

and yet she flies on

beyond the wreck

she made this bed

and she’ll lie in it with wings like shattered glass

— Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

The dappled sun dances

across my gooey eyelids

as the birds take their chances

witch-notes whistling through their fragile ribs

— Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

I can see the bones of December

draped in crisp folds of snow

ribbed in the embrace

of the tundra that grips

and offers an end to the hollow

— Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

I strolled off the edge of the world

looking for home

and found it in the ether

beyond the borders of The Known

— Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

December has descended,

Howling on the wind,

The cooling ember of what has ended,

Memento Mori, on the lips, Blue and Thinned

—Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

The flowers have dawned their dewy mourning skirts

To grieve at the feet of the child who hurts

And promise the cradle of the emerald grass

As their roots break the small, empty hourglass

—Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

To be a sunrise

is to interrupt

to know the tone of Night

—his voice like a father

despairing the light—

and speak up

to open your eyes

— Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

And so I flew…

Tonight the Earth is candied

And soft

The air is frothed

As it grins from a fence post

And trills

The echo of a robin’s wing

As it uproots

From the roost

And flies south

Its shadow inked across the setting sun

— Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

Scrolling through my pictures to find something I need and finding the picture I took of a cat working in a garden centre. Best shop keeper ever, employee of the century.

[spiralsinshadows]

Excerpt

I am the melancholy of a shoreline

the brush of sand

against some thing greater

as the tide sweeps dreams to sea

I am what is left behind

straddling the horizon

of what is

and what could be

— Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

Do the flowers fear the rain?

the roll of thunder

the touch of hail

Or do the clouds charm them?

and bring them to the mist

not with the pummel of a storm

but the embrace of a cure

— Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]

What a clandestine rush

To be a beetle in the underbrush,

Another world, another life,

No more sorrow, no more strife,

There is only muck, and you, and life,

All buzzing happily with no concept of the knife

That scars existence above,

How harsh society is once it’s learned to live

Without love

— Nikola Sojka

https://www.instagram.com/spiralsinshadows?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ%3D%3D&utm_source=qr

[spiralsinshadows]

A world in pink is not so far

a work in ink

—as pretty as tar—

it’s all within that fabled garden

—blessed with sin—

and we its warden

destined to bear the fruit of labor

the pain of care

—await no savior—

the only hope is to watch the tree

for the deadly rope

or become the bee and fly to heaven

to live deliciously

— Nikola Sojka

[spiralsinshadows]