Deepening

You wore your hair on an unwritten novel
That was bound with your daily drawl
Mixed among the thunderstorms
Of a lonely prairie home.
Cows were milked twice a day
And dust blew into your eyes
Leaving streaks running diagonal
Across your rosy cheeks
With an agonizing look
You had long put on
Prepared for deepening silence.

A memory was your novel
That got caught up finding new verbs
For the same things you’d always done
And your hands that worked
In daily grind
With suds and lemonade
Looked increasingly like
They were forming to the job.

Why did you watch the horizon
Each day around two or three?
As dust had settled from morning’s fury
“In time for tea,” you’d say,
The milk cow, knowing nothing more
Chewed and watched you at your chore
No thought did cross it’s mind.

So sad did the lesson grow
A mind lost of ten thousand reasons
Thunderstorm in Sun’s sweet blessing
If it was not you, save pray for more
So today will sing of tomorrow
A song you knew intuitively
As cow’s milk begun to pour
And dust blew through your hair.

Forgiveth

I am moody
I’m the gravel inspiration
Of a moonlit breath
Standing naked against
Each whispering hallow
Deep within consciousness,
Though cackles be heard.
And here I stand,
Abreast the fight
Holding a heartache
That’s dazed
But still conscious
With an armful
Of medicine
Tunneling out the holes
I havent made time
To mend yet.
Oh, how art forgiveth.
How loose
Can these boundaries be?
How can thy closing eyes
Retreat once into dream
Twice into heavens,
With hardly a thread
Seperating this moment
And to their’s.

Into the Rain

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.

Why Didn’t I See Your Eyes

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?

Legs of a Newborn

Chilling me, my bones;
Solar vision of a home.
Leave sense alone,
For good can be struck
Gathered at
Legs of a newborn.

Forgive this faintest vision:
Whelping at green gates,
Unable to return this burden
To a rusty hand that remains
Steadlock,
A wooden helm,
For sorcery:
Electric sounds gurgle on.

Mission of lost specifics,
Vague and cold and distant offers
Scrawling deeper into well lit halls
Piano key footsteps;
I’m an anarchist loosing it
Blessed closing song
Holding a chord
Of a subtle melody
Breaking my consciousness.

Key of E Minor

Enter the Maestro
Long silence and little chatter
Shiny little black shoes
From where I sit
Clacking animatedly
Excited anticipation
Thus begins.

Rusting cello strings
Played in the lower key of E Minor
Pounding but softly on the frets
As a window amidst rain
Can only feel
Agony of the heart
Echoing off engineered walls
Settling to silence
Little flutter.

Hover one moment
About the lower E Minor chord,
Wait for no other beast
At the breast of emancipation
For it shall be only
Figures you’ve called out;
Mighty turmoil
Dripped from thy chin
Upon ancient grains of wood
So cherished between fingers
Resonated into hearts
Of forgotten sadness.

Silence.
No more can movement
Break the spell of horror.
Deathly pale voids;
Look back, unrecognizing
Distracted
Caught in a forever key of E Minor
That remains as sustain
Lost to the world.

Walking

Though skies sit darkly
Reminiscing flatter plains,
I woke to a snowflake
Covering my name
Footsteps hardly criss-crossing
This empty expanse of our lane
So that magic could work
It’s betwickled strings
Into the heart of my sky.

Revolutionary Blood

My revolution has taken its toll
On jagged edges of my soul;
I’ve dawned gloves,
Sawn carefully,
Yet each gold line
I’ve carefully drawn out
– Tracing a route
For my skilled cut –
Has left an array
Of scraps and debris
That keeps slicing
Each fiber I live by,
So that each step I take
A trail of blood
Follows me
Ending at this precipice
My revolution has brought me to.

Ungracefully Lacking

Insight has lost its worth
For it no longer blesses thy journey;
It is a burden, a hex,
Pointedly accusing
And draining all chai.

How often does it rain?
Even cold grass
Does not sprout green
For it has lost its vision,
Quest departed long ago
Sun turned into mold.

Gravel roads
And sombre trees
Who no longer speak;
Dormant, sleeping, away
Unto this vision
Cold and ungracefully lacking.