This place I never meant to find,

this time I never meant to be in,

holds me against my will

and I linger longer than a moment

in years gone past and lost;

it’s all I can do to not reach out,

to stretch out from the lonely dark

with fingers broken and bruised

from clawing at this prison of hope,

to see if you, if any part of you that

isn’t only memory now might be there–

but I know, to do so would be my folly,

and finding again the deafening roar

of an anger I’m not sure I deserve

I’d only retreat, defeated again by

the reality that is me,

the reality you created for me.

There was a time, a moment

when light and color–when you–washed away

all the greying shadow I cast in the world,

and melody takes me there far too often,

more than I’d like to admit,

but now…. now there is only me

and memory, thunderous and vibrant,

and painful, not for what it is,

but for what it no longer isn’t;

and this echoing silence fueled now

by rage and hate and the blame of

love misunderstood and cast aside

for lies that were never told

is all that remains of a forgiveness

that was asked for and offered

and then stripped away before it could breathe.

luminous

this darkness
living and breathing
becomes me;
and though it is me
I am not it, I am only
a remnant of Light
and the twilight of God,
bound by the limitation
of being, revealed as
nothing more than
eternity failed

Starlight

15-066

Rain weary air
gives way to fire laden breath,
a soul escaping the confines of flesh
and set free in exhalation of thought;
into night on rising tides
of fluttering light crowned in autumn hues
it flies, upward to drift in an ocean of wonder
bedecked with jewels of every color,
each the keeper of a dream,
or a wish, some now long forgotten
but out there still, held safe in silent prayers
now tended by we who dream now
and tomorrow–and in that hope,
in the essence of gossamer strands
that bind souls together is found
that thing, that simplest of things
that makes you and I one:
for if from stars we are born,
then stars we must be,
light enduring before and after
we were born to darkness–
but darkness knows not itself
without the light to shine upon it,
and souls, as dreams, are that
formless fire of creation,
eternal and unyielding.

Untitled

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.

untitled

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.

Just Passing Through

We dance in shadow and light,
and we are but shades
defined between them,
endlessly turning
as time passes around us,
between and earth and sky
that will never meet;
and in the shape of light
is found a glimpse of forever,
though it too is fleeting,
naught but another reminder
of all that the dark is not.