Bright lights are blinding to the
Dull eyes of youth who know
Not what they do, nor what they want.
Can you find me in the darkness of
The neon lights? The dancing girls-
The broken hearts, the penniless fiends?
Poor boys, they’ll see the painted smiles
And claim them as truth and wonder
Why the tears still fall as pennies drop—
Explode in empty pockets as empty
Promises consume. Here in this vast oasis,
Which is merely a mirage, I wait
As we slur our words in frenetic ecstasy
And spill our pennies in the street
In this city of lights, of darkness.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:48 PM UTC
There’s a broken bird in the red snow at sunset
Drenched in water and freezing fast at the hands
Of two red-blooded boys who laughed
At the feeble chirps of protest emitted from between
The little pink lips of a red-cheeked girl
Her blue mittens were matted with snow and flying fast
Hurling packed ***** of frozen water at the boys
Even as the sun disappeared behind their heads
And she was trapped in their shadow
She dispelled them in haste and in a spray of snow
They were gone leaving a broken bird and a sad little girl
She took the white scarf from around her neck and shivered
The bird chirped meekly as it was wrapped and carried
Mother’s sympathetic smile was not enough
Nor were father’s promises
The bird was put in a box outside to spend the night
As a storm raged outside she could not sleep
The empty box in the morning a ray of hope
Or a damnable void
She chose hope and washed her red-speckled scarf
And in the spring among the many-winged shadows
She searched for her bird certain he still flew
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
Wind whispers softly to the waves in June.
When Sun sinks low in the advancing night
And crickets in their siren song unite
A gentle tide begins to sweep the dune.
In the darkness, my love, you are the Moon.
When birds land home to nest, no more in flight,
The unforgiving shadow steals the light
And once again you’re gone too soon.
But you shall be there in the morning’s hush
To bear witness to the moment light has won.
The tide will crash in all its foamy rush;
Stones concede to softer sands under its push.
Oh! sweet and silent night your course has run.
When Moon grows pale, my love, you are the Sun.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC