The grass rolled gently with each inhale
Her eyes laid of earth hues and sky-lit horizons
Hands pressed with assurance and soft mounds

of pleasures
unknown
Some innocent and grown

Followed by the warm of her footprints
Resting against the resilience of the bark of trees
The touch of another discovered by the

endless sea
of leaves and flowers
and she whispered away her soul

Rested beside the roots of the last seen place
I've calmly assured myself her return to me
If only my woes and fears would also

Kindly
whisper
away.

© 2014

Bled
The wounds only scratch the surface
Of what few accept in kind regards
But often take for granted
Hoping
That all of this pulls through
To stave away from temptation
Of all that has been seen
Another year to deceive will lead

What of hope’s acceptance
It’s frail and so weak
To cope with this resistance
Too timid and too meek
If all of what it carries dies
Sheltering the fleet
Is lost to what we can’t have
And failed to obtain

Arms crossed
Protect what little can muster
The threat of losing all versus
The salvation of saving little
Memories
Of what could have been true
Burn away without moderation
The priceless reveries we bring
Replaced by the mourns we sing

© 2014

I and I alone find the peace of another savior in the dark
Alone and pleading for the life one doesn't own
Sick and bleeding for the sins he does not commit
But is always leading others to the crossroads of choice.

The light of the new day fails to offer much more than
Just the promise that one has survived it all thus far
What has not killed us now has not finished the task
Of what has not changed us now will fail in future attempts.

The mind is now running straight through the fires
The hell-bent now seeking the solace of sanctuary
Ensconced in every child of man innocent to the past
Trapped in the endless cycles of protest and oppress
Of the lost, the celebrated, the obedient and the rebellious.

© 2013

It's not exactly hatred worth clinging onto
Rather the distant clawing of the child once...
Nothing much of innocence towards the heart
And little trace of the one left behind

A fear of self lives within the shell
Awaiting the spark needed to rise again
But under lock and key behind chambers
Personified and split within the mind

Is a cure in sight or is delusion a calming lie?
The horror in the cure is slowly surpassing
the truth in the lie that weighs heavy in deceit
The consequences of inaction will be the greatest undoing

To have attempted and failed to run and hide
from this is a life shrouded in a hazy mind
For the one who is to endure is conflicted
The quiet in this soul is never acquiesced.

© 2013

Fearing the shape of
The soul underneath my breath
Ripping and clawing
The barriers between her chest
Savage and alluring
Every pore drips slow with haste
Taking time… to savor
This chance should never go to waste

Opened her eyes and made her see
This a different person in me

Heat rising, the core is
The nerve one must try to find
Disregard all morals
What I’ve found must now be mine
A liquid aphrodisiac
The cries are strange and out of place
The hunter is hunting
And lust is found to be the game

Opened her eyes and made her scream
Is the beast of lust in me?

The ecstasy in feral means
Ignores her pleas of decency
Will I destroy what I love?
The loss of mind in lustful gaze
A fall from grace, now unafraid
Slowly, assured that I'm…
Assured of the beast of lust in me.

I haven't been a part of life for more years than I wish to count. It's the absence in the moments I've seen long ago, the scenes I once clung so desperately to belong to. The abstraction in my memories say I was once there, but the irregularities in my heart rationalize the doubt and assure me that wishful thinking was the only memory that occurred. The particularities of this symptom- if it could be called that- are quite strange. It happens so rapidly, I hardly pay it any mind; but if my mind wanders, the old theater in my brain plays a reel. The imagined scenes are portrayed on screen and I can see myself within them.

Happy... sad, maybe.

It makes no difference. The mood of the filming is enough to make the heart start an analysis. I'll feel a tug or two at my heart and wonder where I ever got this silly notion. It's odd and a little depressing, but it only makes me wonder- where was I and why did I think this happen? Some days, I think I have the answer.

It's only longing.

© 2013

Woe to my
Perfect gray sky

My baby’s locked down in the basement
Yearning for its mother’s arms
Mother’s gone and misplaced him

Broken by the discard pile

Perfect gray sky
And pretty flowers gone

My best friend has gotten awful chilly
Laying down so blue and pale
Too far to see where she was swimming

Sunk down and deeply inhaled

And pretty flowers gone
All I wanted

My dear husband has gone missing
Replaced with a simple note
“I will not come back for my sweeter things…

My body hangs from the rope.”

All I ever wanted
To never be alone

© 2013