I am the summers shade
The rain that wets the forest glade
I am the canvas where stars hang
And I am the song that weeps in pain

I am the leaves in late autumn
The waves that crash against the shore line
I am the last lingering hint of sun
And the fallen branches of olden ones

I am the breath after goodbye
The time in between long replies
And while the ache of endings is mine
I walk hand in hand with life and time

How do I end without beginning?
Through faded scars adorning?

Or perhaps by tired sigh,
A breath released into an evening sky
Waiting for a sun that he’ll never see rise
Sword fallen by his side, long forgotten

The sun bleeds red as the moon hums
A soft song of forlorn goodbye
To worn hands and tired eyes
A life lost, but a battle won

How do I end without beginning?
By mourning a hero dead and gone?

Akin to a lover, she lays with me,
through the darken knights and on long drawn days.
Whispers tales as she kisses my eyelids,
her embrace shielding cloak in the world.
I call on her and she comes faithfully,
even though I know we will part too soon
and she will cling as I rise to leave her,
calling for me to come back, cries ignored.
She is the life behind my love yet
it’s me who leaves her waiting every night,
vehemently ignoring her for hours.
I avoid her like a maggot-filled corpse
until she appears in my cornered eye
and I’m drawn back to lay with her again

You are not my love
Yet I am your folly
The distance between us
Betrays my inadequacy

I am but love’s tenderest touch
Alone I am worthless
Though I think not as such

But to you, and alone
Many grievances upon
And barren your lands
By the rays of sun

Be you both blinded and burned
As you yearn for warmth
And your prospects wither
Along with the crops

I apologize, since I meant no harm
But alas I am a selfish one
A paradox disguised as a prize
Nothing will come of your pining eyes

Countless tales have reached me from far and wide
Hidden warnings from generations past
They speak of raging rivers, rising tides
Turned to barend dust bowls, dry dirt and ash.
A friend once said to me, with old ego,
“to live is to work, to rest is to die”
Withered like a cut rose, last breath a sigh
Is this the youths fate? The only paved path?
We sell our bones for scraps of sleep at night
only to face the rising sun, dawn’s wrath
sinks its teeth in our flesh when we can’t fight
The thread frays until it snaps, dripping red
And as time drags on all that’s left is dread

I think I hate my darling dear as much
as I love her, in all her rips and tears.
I want to push her in a fire and weep
and drag her out to fix her up again.
Every day I watch her break apart but
at night I bend her limbs back into place.
My heart is crushed as she is stepped upon
yet I cursed her name as she betrays me
I, her slave, am bound and shackled, helpless
To her beauty I am but a mange mutt
Though looking closely I can see her aged
A milky white turned sour with wrinkled frame. The time has come to go our separate ways
A pleasure it was to have been your keeper

Worth your time
As well as mine
For me to write
And you to read

Something that
we almost need
To hear or see
And make us feel

Both reader and writer
Forced to kneel
From the weight
Of words and wisdom
Natural highs and ultimate freedom

Yet well versed words
Don’t fall from above
It takes tallent and effort
With a dollop of love