Rising Sun by erin hougland
The day upon from which you fell,
a brilliant red sacrament.
And into dusk of orange glows
the passion of that life.
In caves buried deep,
your cries did reach my ears.
A story which burns the skin,
setting fire to caverns where we often stand.
For at one time I could not see
how such a passion could exist;
as that which would be born,
in order to die for love.
But the story does not end us here
and for this I am weary.
For where you go I must go also,
to the end and willingly.
For how can I go back inside
darkness which would keep me cold?
When such a love could set me free
to die and live again,
Into the rising Sun.
Calling Crow by erin hougland
calling is falling
into those hands both familiar
and unseen, a net that catches you;
swiftly and keen like a crow,
knowing when i might drop
the crumbs of confusion.
“shhhh girl” the crow whispers,
“i see you crumble, but I will
make you into something of love.”
For now i am home,
but know the journey will begin again
and the hands hold me as i wonder,
when i will trip and fall
and she will call
me back again.