Side note

I don’t mean to be, I just seem to be
eyes that look over misty sleets
ears that listen in shady tones
picking up the scents of creeping,
my feet have moved over broken bone
and found their way in feeling
touching all that comes my way
splintered teeth and creeks in fleeing,
cold airs upon my twisted neck
all bound in wintry branches
covering my naked body hence
tender kisses and violent lashes,
so sleep to snuggle bound me soul
wrapped in the leaves of falling
I weep in cradles all spilling over
swollen limbs and blood are scrawling.

The seasons

Flower upon a petaled wall
I see your pretty freckled face
leaning watching busy bees
blue skies filling open space,
your leaves are nowhere to be found
and your moment a skipping heart
when he flutters in your direction
with a hand out to take part,
awkward little moments
precious gifts within our time
fading into background
to the hardships in our prime,
crippling lovely flower
now bent upon the stem
looking to the grassy grave
watching falling diadems.

A life to tell the tale

Let us not forget the shadows way
when the Earth itself does crawl
where the waters run cold and still
that twist of blade upon the flesh;
running deep as a cutting shrill,
it cuts beneath the layers of skin
that gently cuddles above the bone
moving past the muscles flesh
till it reaches the death of home,
grips and knuckles seize to cry
at the wavering, loosening soul
eyes roll back in the fear of awe
as the veil opens wide for the whole,
and then the darkness it does approach
with its tendrils and lingering note
scraping along an endless mass
the skin goes pale and dry the throat.

“And where in life did it hold its worth
oh little little twisting soul
was the heart your sailing vessel
love and care its giving goal?
Or were the worms of want and need
your hunger over the starving
anger, hate, and bigotry
poison seeds of greedy farming?”

Undone

Quietly, my sweet to lay you down
upon prairies of unclear patterns
tattered stitching held undone
and fabric that folds in shades;
torn at the knees from the run.

The golden light of moments lost
still shutter upon the eyes
where fingers used to clear the cry
and breath of my full kisses;
now lingering only this tender sigh.

Remember all the love and laughter
at the onset of our flame
when rain itself was folly
two souls in wild untame,
and now the waters a shore of tears
that fill up many buckets
where the valley has all but dried up
and silence has killed the ruckus.

My heart song

Hey, Lover,
can you hear me while you sleep?
So far away in distant places
hearing the songs of time and space
you fly among the many skies
that are shewn in many colors
filled with shapes of clouds
that will never seek our waking eyes.

Sweetheart,
can you hear me?
Among the jubilation of imagination
that carries you over mountains
lulls you into the depths of the sea
and covers you in the warmth of many suns
such feelings that will never touch our living days.

My darling,
If you listen, you will hear me.
Through the rich forests that layer the Planet
and the trickling water of sweet quartets
that lure the breath to sing
touching upon the faces you radiate
bringing the smiles of a million moons
that will fade upon your wakening
revealing the chorus of my Love beside you.

For the price of a book

I can feel the solus
for people
alone in their loss
and the empty gains
of what was hoped
to be love,
but they sit
in differentiation
from what was
the expectation,
where the joys
of living
and the happiness
of two
has receded,
against the tender
movements
of caring,
the breath
upon each other
when two become one
and the union
complete,
all gone now
nothing more
than a turning page
and the value
as little or less
as such.

Breaking in

Sometimes I hear beautiful things
and they layer over my soul
drifting past my memories
through the thick layers
of a fluid subconsciousness,
other times I see horrific images
and they blend with the shadows
melting into my imagination
over the depth of oceans,
there are places I have felt too
all around my fervent scope
exploring every facet
as a fish might swim through space
or a rabbit on the moon,
but I know what these are
they are figments of creation
a point in time where everything wishes to be
but tumbles back into the splitting seconds of the day,
where sometimes they don’t stop again…