Your Histories (day 2286)

I can only hold my breath
As waves of anxiety pass through me
Butterflies emanate so powerfully
From my being
Sunshine becomes hard to see
I cannot count to ten or listen
I cannot comprehend noises
Conversation becomes lost
In an inaudible sea of thought
That has found me here
Floating around your island
Out beyond the breakers in the sea;
A picture on the wall
That leaves me awe-struck
Star struck, but not star-struck,
Star struck that makes me remember
Your kindness that laughed at me
Your eyes that watched with me
Your silence that became excited with me
And your being that is
A remarkable being
A being that should rest upon silk robes
Effortlessly moving through a sea of pillows
That supports your every wish
With decadence and consideration
And space that gives you time
To remember the histories
That you have always been,
And love that has never been forgotten
In a book written long ago
Bound with two ribbons:
One of forest green,
The other of gray.

Dusk (day 2158)

This is the spark that sets seed
A jubilant setting free
A sunset beyond every sea
With a new day the grain that grows.

And if each sign these clouds do point
Expose a pasture fit for rose
Should a foot that heals the earth
Lay thin dust that bitter burns?

Nay, each dusk a seat be found
To hold each glass, a little worn
A ritual many should be warmed
At last, sweet moon, a gray cocoon.

The Wedding (day 2156)

I want to have a terribly sad wedding
The saddest wedding of all
Where all the guests dress in black
And music will be sombre
Leading many attendees to tears.
I want the food to evoke heartbreak
And the clouds to be forever ominous
Dead midwinter grays will be everywhere
The roses will be dried
And their stems quick to draw blood
With fires burning and candlesticks
That attracts gazes of lost reverie.
I will have guests
Sign their names in blood
And a butler will be there to request it
With orders not to ever smile.
Each place will be set
With Gothic cutlery
And matching black napkins
Folded in a melancholy way.
I want an organ to hold a single chord
For the entire evening
An omnipresent chord
That each song will be tuned to
Maybe a D melodic minor
Or a F flat diminished 7th.
And on my wedding day just so
There will only be one person
Standing at the alter
It will be the pastor
Of an unimaginably vague faith
Whom nobody will know
And nobody will greet
And nobody will listen to his words
For they will blend right in
With the grumbling organ
In the key of terribly sad.
I will watch the whole preceding
Not greeting a single guest
Feom my perch high up
A balcony through my vaulted windows
Of my cold stone house
And there I will sit
Surrounded by ghosts
That I forgot to invite
To my terribly sad wedding
And sitting close by
Without a smile on her face
Will be love for the rest of my life.

The Sea (day 1863)

The colors of the sea
Awaken all my heart
A deep blue curl
Magnified
By ten thousand hues of green.
A sea of waving grass
Filled with little flowers
Conifers too old to guess
From their battles with the wind.
As my gaze follows up
To the never ending sky
From blue to white
To darkend clouds
To purple and even gray above,
And then the clouds all go away
As sun makes its journey West,
So here I am amidst the sea
Guessing at my stars.

Maybe Not Everyday (day 929)

Winter wears it’s colors proudly in this city
Fighting white with tropical greens
Peering around every West-Coast corner
Drab gray peaks and arches
Occasionally peak out from behind foggy haze
Curling around
Northern mountains
Leaving otherwise black vistas
With an icing-sugar like pose
After cold arctic winds
Blow off those quiet days
Maybe not everyday
But on the days it does
You look and smile and reach out
To say hello

Inside of There (day 643)

I see wizards
Mingling
With hazardous potions
I see angels
Screaming
To mindless pebbles
And rustling up darkness
Digging deep down inside
Like leather bound bikers
Full of anger
Peddling motionless
Save small nods of the head

I see guard dogs
Chained
To harvesting trees
I see trimmed hedges
Floating
Like lingering strangers
Passing through the darkness
That creeps along
The side of the house
Trampling
Brightly coloured daisies

I see chains
Swinging
Back and forth and stairs
I see widows
Standing in the doorway
Holding a straw broom
Blue and white checkered apron
And a tight bun
Holding in gray
And many years of
Deep isolation

Prison (day 83)

Time slips by unbeknownst to me
Regardless of the patience I give to thee
Bars fill up the bland landscape
Gray and capturing

Relentless I feel is my tight schedule
Pointless I feel is my constant turmoil
Sunlight visits me in sun dialed accuracy
Bright and blinding

Visitors few, ladies are never
Friends aren’t friends, just forced communication
Green grass escapes from the sand
Sparse and hopeless

I am a jailbird, guilty and charged
I have been guilty of abusing
Societies deepest friends
Dry and inconsolable