Contain the void
and find it within,
undone by its making,
defined only by restriction:
speed moving with the
freedom of thought,
abstract intentions
enabling reason,
breathing light into life
where there was
only shadow before;
outward glimpses of
inward turnings
voiceless expressions
of things awoken,
casting color where
words are lost.

Dies the Fire

I whisper to the world
words uneasy for me,
except when offered
only to you, though
now I find they fall
and fail at carrying
the meaning of the moment,
and mark now my faults;
and I find before me
a fate unwinding
against my will,
without design
and though I struggle
to stand this line
I wonder at what
the world will think
of the hero who falls
from lack of passion?