When you want something,
but you don't know what.
Maybe it's a want to want,
misplaced in hopes of filling
the ever-present void in you.
Maybe it's happiness.

Maybe it's as close as you'll ever get.

There was this feeling
That the people once called love
They described it as
Untouchable
Unavoidable
Spiritual
Sensual


Life


A storm basked along the horizon
On one particular day
Supernova came
And she told the world to be still
And

know

And everything was quiet after that

There was the color red
As heat bled
From open sores in the sky
And mercy
Pulled a knife from it's spine

Those unscathed
Would often shake fists in the air
Heads turned upwards
And open voices to a stranger
For whom they blamed
Armageddon

Not a whisper responded
Nor did despair
Cease to charge

Love no longer had a place
Alas, hatred had eaten her heart
All that is left
Is but a husk
Of an echo
Of a memory
It is nothing





*Dust