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Zydha Hart


Worthing, England, UK

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An Eerie Moment


Zydha Hart

Endearing itself to her, the kindness of night,

Drapes all, with its soothing camouflage.

Misted shadows dance, beneath the wafting,

Almost beckoning arms, of the aged willow tree.

She had heard tell, of stories of the spirits,

Of the angels, who did shelter from the evening dew,

As it descends ...hampering their tissue wings.

Whispered meric trilled in the air,

It drew her closer ... and yet closer,

Until she lifted her hand to part

The fashioned leafy portal of her callings

But for a second, she stood in wonder,

As they danced in her wraith like image,

Bathed in an opalescent aura . . . an eerie dance.

Her body swayed in transir motion,

As she moved into their circle.

This was to be her peace, this she knew,

And she smiled in gentle leaving.



Zydha Hart

Through a tinted window

Is a world of me, surreal.

It is not a world

As any other's world

No trees nor flowers

But barren, as Dali's desert

'Moving time' has

Stopped for me

As I sit

And wait

For someone

To come in

And landscape

My vision.

A Sense of Time


Zydha Hart

Meandering along the street

Where past and present often meet,

With shadows of, the partisan

From Marseilles to the hills of Cannes.

The plaques and cracks of time gone by

Translates to mind in thoughts from eye,

Of lives and loves, both lost and found,

The blood of some still stains the ground.

An ambiance of who was here

With senses of, 'they still are near'.

Home is where the spirits peace,

Is born and grown and knows, release.

(c) ZYDHA HART 2004