Christian Thomas Scott Poems

Careful ought our tongues portray these moments,
And purposed stone engrave our every word,
Fortress of unprecedented minutes,
By which we hold our time unto the sword.
...

Delving into depths of darker deeds,
For one less shadow dims a sunlit land,
When far below his marching footsteps lead,
To chaos sound of path without demand.
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At the center of the rain, where the gravel meets the trees,
You'll find her, curled by the iron of forgotten memories.
No echoes play their melodies, for all is silent,
In the ripples, of the waves upon the sand,
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We dream of those unshackled days,
When moonbeams dance upon our feet,
And clouds like shelter midst the rain,
Where mountaintops and sky shall meet.
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Here with all the earth as roses,
Falling at our feet and when,
They call me back into that place,
My mind remains away.
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Needles pierce themselves upon,
The sun and shadows, as they sway.
Clouds of candles carry onward,
To the Forests where we lay.
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Faintest whispers dance upon the page,
In swirling dust of words from abject age,
Drawn from murky silhouettes of calm,
And mysteries of emotion and alarm.
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While peaks for those
Of cantering, to filter leaves of
Brush and all, the westward contours
have their sheen for headlong accommodation.
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Heat born motion:
In these blurry days, As sensations
Slowly spreading do less
Work upon the mind, The
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Wounded giant, face the earth,
And break the heavens with your birth,
Blast the gates of hell with those
That anchor when the torrents blow.
...