I flirted with
the sun as it
blushed
pink
through the trees,
their naked branches
spread wide,
wet with dew.
Sticky sweet
dawn
winked with the
promise of a new day.
Swans mate for
life
and die in the spring.
And she
lied a little less than
the moon, and
the fog, and the
wet cat drunk on
feline dreams.
Her eyes looked like
they hated her face;
like they
wanted to
leap out, and
roll down the street,
find a mountain brook to
wash off all they had seen.
She saw too much...
felt too much,
as the fractured dawn
laughed
and flew away like
a mockingbird.

The sorrow we display reflects the sympathy we have, and reflects the shattered vision of a world we will yet have. Our despair is the inverted image of our nobility.

When the clouds come
I cast them away
I tear them apart,
Dismantling grey

I am left with the blue
Entranced by its hue, but
Its vastness consumes
And I, lost without aim

So empty pages I thumb
Clear eyes achingly numb
Skin desperate to soak in
The sweet mist of pain
From where the clouds came
Oh, when the clouds come