Sometimes –
just listen:
it would be enough
for me to just talk,
to give voice to my demons
and be free of the ghosts
that haunt me,
and release the burdens
that plague me;
only love,
quiet and strong,
and a voice of compassion
are all that I need –


…raw are the nerves,
barren and exposed,
numbed by the cold,
protected by walls
that can’t feel…
…slowly, surely,
they lose touch
with an imagined reality,
losing all sense
of being alive,
of what it means
to be Self…
…and now is only
cold and dark,
a shadow of what
never was,
never should have been,
and now the blood
retreats, and I
will expose no more…


When dies the fire,
it should not be allowed
to dwindle into embers,
each fighting for its last breath,
for in this is sorrow,
the anguish of light and life
allowed to linger in pain,
and with it passion dies;
with mighty roar and
great flare should the fire
be allowed to die,
meeting its end as a warrior,
not as the poet who withers.