We can never
rewrite history
and the future
is impossible to pen.

When the present
bears only anarchy
in the darkened,
tainted hearts of men.

back from the brink
of blindly falling;
back alone again
in a crowded room

there is no bridge
over troubled waters,
no way to purge
vast oceans
when deep rivers foment
pitch black
swallowed by an insatiable sea

no good shepherd to gather
an abandoned black sheep
cast heedlessly away
from the fold

unbefriended
like a dogless bone

a stain on impeccable sublime
a hopeless wanderer
stalled on the brink
of a threshold lost in time

purge me from your poetry
so I won’t remember
the insatiable  ache
of inerasable words
left unsaid

you lured me out
from the cold & darkness
to freeze my heart
in naked light of day

purge me from your poetry
like you spilled me
from your heart;
don’t come back here
to this slippery, lonely edge,
just to bid adieu

as if I didn't notice you were gone

purge me from your poetry
so I can accept without
sorrow's ache so deep;
in unbroken silence
a heart silent  atones not pretense,

and yet,

the only lie you whispered was "friend"



November 2016  ... wild is the wind

There is something unknowable about you
a curse word, terrible and crude,
itching to be spoken, dancing on the tongue
flames licking the throat
hellfire blazing in eyes shrouded
by a palpable darkness,
bright as a falling star
catastrophic as a crashing comet
you are an altogether
beautiful and damaged thing
the weeping wound
and the blade itself.

The blazing
flame of the
dark lantern
was shining
brightly
as it reflected
in the
Woodsman's
auburn eyes.
Lost souls
take no
pleasure in
being found.
Little pieces of
glowing embers
were swiftly
carried away
by the autumn
wind in the
melancholy air
of old memories.
Like a
starry breeze
of dying fire,
whispering into
the stalking
night,
singing its
mortal melody
to the
wayward pines.
And so he
slowly disappeared
in the moonlit fog,
more lost than
he could have
ever realised.
Deeper and deeper in
the unknown...

The autumn dawn
has fainted,
****-frost shines
through my eyes.
Ghostly mist
from pine to
pine is
beckoning,
like a silver
breeze to
hallow all.
Our burdened
breath, it haunts
us everywhere.
I feel the silence
tearing up
my lost soul.
Where nightingales
do not sing
and dream the
blue skies of
the North,
I drift through
that middle air,
magic
is blazing
in my auburn hair.
And in these lonely
hours-ancient spirits
reflect within me.
Faces carved in
dead wood
walking on
my strings.
A seashore
howling below
the mountain
dew glen.
But i do not fear
to run in woodland
memories,
Into this autumn day,
Far, far away...