We open our eyes,
But could not see,
The sea of sins,
The plague humanity,

We open our mouth,
But never speak,
Our evil smile,
Our sins within,

We listen,
But never hear,
The scream of anguish,
The cry of fear,

Strings attached,
Actions observe,
Speech detach,
Hearing filtered,

Is freedom truly ours?
If freedom strip of power?
Always within view,
But never within reach.

I sat and I watched
the sun shadows were changing
as the snow melted

I hope I smell
like green things
earthy, growing
damp and pungent
after rain
the scent of
stretching
myself in
imperceptible
amounts, always
a little new.

What is this feeling?
Or rather, lack there of.
A constant longing…
For what?
What need do I have for love
if all it will bring is pain.
Perhaps pain is the very thing I seek.
At least then this void would be filled,
And I could pretend to be whole.

In my dream,
I walk alone, and it’s
Cold,
Windy,
Harsh.
No voices but the wind’s.
The wind begs me to sit,
And I find a tree and sit
On its roots.
A bat flies out of the tree,
A black shadow against an even
Blacker sky,
A dark heart in a dark soul.
The last leaf in the forest stirs,
And then Winter arrives,
Cold,
Windy,
Harsh.
I try to hold our memory in my head,
Of when this forest was green,
And we were new and fresh,
Warm,
Still,
Kind.
In my dream, you appear
And I meet your eye.
But your memory is absent
Quicker than it came,
And I am left alone,
Cold,
Windy,
Harsh.