The altar rests in ruin—
no longer refined in worship.

Knees painted blue,  
sweat reeks of sin,
calloused hands reign regret,
prayers sang in vain.

Guilt masked as pride,
envy veiled as praise,
lust whispered as love,
as purity slips in sage.

But the altar remains forgiving—
of all those who are misled,
for they weep at the stone steps,
of a temple once embedded.

The altar rests in ruin—
no longer refined in worship,
still exuding grace—
accepting all those,
lost, and seeking blind faith.

A crow mourns at the stump
of the memorial tree.

A past life—
a spirit reincarnate,
a love tethered,
a body,
caged—
dammed in feathers.

A crow mourns at the stump
of the memorial tree.

Souls tied,
one unearthed,
tears slipping in flight—
a forsaken rebirth.

O golden blaze, thou sovereign of the day,
Whose light doth stir the heavens' vast delight,
I dwell afar where shadows love to stay,
Yet yearn to bathe within thy burning light.

Thy warmth I feel not, only glimpsed afar,
A dream that dances 'cross the void of years.
Though I, a lonely and forgotten star,
Shine still with love and silent, distant tears.

Thou canst not know the longing in my flame,
Nor hear the whispers in my solar song.
For time and space do mock love’s gentle name,
And deem a bond like ours a dream too long.

Yet still I burn, though fate keeps us apart
A distant fire with thee etched in its heart.

I don't want to get up today. I don't want
to get out of bed. I've lost hope in myself.
I've lost you. so now everything is fallen apart.

I woke up wondering
Where the sadness
ever present on my shoulders
disappeared to this week

The way you no longer
Spend every moment seeking out
The one you love
Once they’ve confirmed they’re yours
They way each second is just a second
Instead of another second with them
There was a time you pined to share the same air
And now you walk past without a hello
knowing they’ll be meeting you at home later

will you still love me
if I don't smile today?
if my tears fall like raindrops
and my world tears at the seams?
if my voice breaks when I talk
and I seek the comfort of dreams?

will you still love me
if I don't cheer up today?
if I sit rigid in silence
and spend the whole day in bed?
if I find solace in cigarettes
and don't keep myself fed?

will you still love me
if I don't laugh today?
if I keep my thoughts hidden
and don't say what I mean?
if I curl up in darkness
and stare at a screen?

will you still love me
if I don't calm down today?
if my patience wears thin
and snaps like a thread?
if my eyes no longer sparkle
and are absent instead?

will you still love me
if I don't smile today?

You read my poem,
sighed like a widowed cello,
told me I was
so brave.
So sensitive.
So real.

I said thanks.
You asked if I was free
Friday.

You wanted to know the man
behind the wound.
The author of ache.
The architect of vibes.

So I showed up.

A little unwashed.
A little twitchy.
A patchwork of trauma
in ill-fitting pants.

You blinked.
Twice.

Like I’d just tracked in mud
on the white carpet
of your curated suffering.

You wanted a candlelit meal
with my metaphors.
But I brought the cow.
It shat on the floor.

I tried to explain—
the sadness isn’t a costume.
The pain isn’t prose.
The blood on the page
was mine.

You said,
“I just thought you'd be more… together?”
I said,
“I thought you knew what empathy meant.”

Turns out,
what you really wanted
was artisanal anguish
with the trauma locally sourced
but ethically removed.

You can cry to the soundtrack—
just don’t ask where the violins came from.

Because—

Nobody is amused with a stray cow.
But most people enjoy
a good hamburger.