It is the end of summer
and thus the light dies;
it is the end of ever,
comes eternal night.

A rebellion of being
in a moment of faith,
a question of answers
and creator replaced;
the worry of breathing
when the air is this cold,
when silence of chaos
and its order unfolds.

The death of a dream
that was ever unborn,
and I in my doing
exist but to mourn.


It is in those quiet,
passing moments,
when life is its most
sudden and fleeting,
awash in the afterglow
of what has been and
what is yet to be,
when silent anticipation
collides with memory
that I lose myself to you,
thankful for all that we are not,
if only because
it is yet to be discovered.


I wasn’t prepared
for what you took away
and how empty I would be
when what was left
was only what remained
of colliding and shattered dreams;
there is no salvation
in a greyclad sky
that’s hanging by a thread
threatening to reveal
a soul plagued by
a thousand sins in
a heart left hollow
by its own betrayal,
given over so willingly
to this darkness.

Of Rage

It tears at me from the inside,
like claws and teeth shredding
their way through my ribs and skull,
seeking freedom from their restraints,
a great beast given over to primal urges,
and I find myself wanting to let it;
a fired blood feeds the desire
to roar and forget, to surrender
to anger and passion, to let pain
and hate rend flesh and break bone,
and to drink deep from the cup of rage,
even as I know it will not sate this thirst.
But I thirst, and I hunger,
and in silence, alone, I must endure.


I long for the peace
that comes with dying:

to fade into the afterglow
of a life no longer wanted,
to settle into the stillness
and comfort of oblivion,
drifting aimlessly and endlessly
in the comfort of not being,
unaware of my awareness,
and blissful in the nothingness;

but twilight holds me captive,
and I must linger yet a while
between here and there.