This smoke and mirrors
Is my pain
As I walk in your memory
I fall alone
On unspent words
My hair,
Lifelessly pressed
Against the glass.
I’ve learned about my veins
That run across
My open palms;
For too long have I
Looked into thee
For an answer
I cannot find.
And so my last drip of blood
Drawn from me
For you
Shall stain the soul
From whence I came
And follow me
Into the rain.
For this, I shall complain
I shall write in blood
Each passing thought
That whispers at my mind,
For it is only in this exalt
My beacons of hope shall arise
And light my way
Away from these depths
I have so tread too long.
Why didn’t I see your eyes?
Still I tried
For this vision I haven’t found
And your browns, greens,
Forever changing
As landscape’s seasons change
And my footsteps
Through my soul’s golden copse
Recapturing.
Why didn’t I see your eyes?
Even though my feet are as tired
As cobblestoned history,
Gray hair grows upon my patience’s mind
Though burdened with none but thoughts
It is mine golden copse
Retiring into my hallow
That comforts even in
My burning question’s fever.
Why didn’t I see your eyes?
Windows took my heart
And told me to walk slow
Down a dusty path
That never ended
Into the glow.
I walked until I stopped
Took two deep breaths
Of fresh air
Saw a raven whisper thoughts
I could faintly hear.
With all my strength
I took a step
Leading me away
And forth I went
With a new mind
Gallantly aflame.
What takes you away?
What brings the lines
From bowels to forehead,
And understands nothing
Of what’s seen before you?
What holds you
Like a scarf on a cold subway
Clicking away
In a nice rattle
Of destination approaching?
What holds time so still
That a lifetime is lived
Experienced
Played
And given
With a softly exhaled breath
Standing atop
Naked and pointed?
What holds you steady
So that even rainbows don’t move
As you traverse this landscape
Narrowly escaping
A landslide of memories
Nobody told you to write down?
Night holds grace
A wish was ever grown upon
In elegance and composure
Stillness of such starlight.
From cassiopeia to Jupiter
Horizon stretches in silhouette
Basking lay each frosty blade
Of grass now nearing frozen.
Faint rustling of thou distant river
Blends its course with swaying poplars
Amidst comes forth a lone coyote call
Right below Polaris’s mark.
What is your weather?
So delicate and sure
Sentinal of harvest.
What once glowed gold
Now delicately so tender,
Brown and wilted;
Seeds like rain
Fall from your mane
In one breath of wind
Shaken your stand.
Of all the ancient history
Stored in your very seed,
How does each season
Keep bringing you to me?
So that our fields can grow
Yellow in the fond sun,
So that our vase can be
Filled up with royal thee.
Each one
My ancestors words
Trying
Dying in the middle
Of my consternation
Accessing only
My little breaths
Taken
From unwritten history pages;
A pen
So delicate
Little fragments
Are lost
As each letter forms.
Today I sit as a rock
Thick and still
Voluntarily receiving
From all what’s around
But remaining unchanged
Until at last
Cold sets in
To await some more.
I am drained of life
Though calming gray Moon
Shines full into my vision.
My mornings wake
With such vast opportunity
Yet I slouch my way
Into an odyssey;
Blurring noises
From Nature’s highway
Busy outside my open window.
This tea alerts me
It brings my senses
Towards the front of my tongue
So that I can find my voice
Rescued from the deep depths
Of a tortuous night.
And here, upon my tongue
A caress felt within my memory
Time spent in my youth
Unabided,
For Spring spirit in Summer Sun
Reaches no Plymouth too soon,
And this warm milk and honey
Resting on my lips
Shall be enveloped by
Moon and by Sun.