Dance upon
the broken shores
of Great Carcosa,
where Silence
plagues the
calloused ghosts
who wither,
whispering
along the wharf.
They dance
for Him,
our Yellow King,
whose misery
creeps
over brittle fields
and rotting crops
stinking in an
amber sun.
Boardwalks crumble
‘round rusted nails
hammered down
by the last to be
forgotten.
Here the
dying wolf
has sharper
teeth,
even as the
stinging wind
rips the fur
from its flesh.
Dance upon
their crackling
bones
in salted air
to the roar of
the mad
and the crashing
of the lost.
His Eye will
see
and You shall
hear
His song
upon Your
lips.
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 1:55 PM UTC
I ate from
a rotting bowl
writhing fruits
picked blindly
by the crone
who set her children
free into
the forest.
They whisper
in the
tangled brush,
snatching at
the ankles
of those who
wander
from the path.
Under grey
skies
weeping their
first snow,
the crackling
branches twist in their
death throes,
as wretched beasts
burrow through
their brittle bodies
to hide
from the cold.
And from the
children,
who play
at being
wolves.
The crone
speaks before the
hearth,
of little but the
cold,
stirring her
filth over
heartless
flame.
She says their
names,
never quite
smiling,
but weeps
softly
when she cannot
remember
her own.
I do not
tell her mine,
for fear
she will one day
whisper it
upon the
embers.
On my leave,
she called
once from the
darkened doorway,
a plea to a girl
she once knew,
answered by
mad laughter
from the
cold and dark,
where no
footsteps
fall.
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
An autumn
sunbeam on
the edge of my
childhood bed,
curled up with my
softly purring cat
nestled by my side.
Two unlike creatures,
brought together in warmth.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 4:20 AM UTC
Somewhere
in the last
heart
that has
never
been broken,
lies the key
to all
that we have
lost.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 1:52 PM UTC
Flames dance
over the bones
of an unfinished
sonnet,
now half-remembered
and strewn about
the ashes
of a love
huddled
in the cold.
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
I can feel
her absence,
like swallowing
a cold
knife.
The blade
slices slowly,
deeper
with each
heartbeat.
Tasting
sorrow
like copper.
A cold
steel shard
that rests
against
my heart.
But will it cut?
Can you still bleed?
Do you love?
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
An angel
wrapped in gauze.
Lying still
on coarse,
unmoved sheets.
Soft,
tender skin
pulled tight
over blood
and bone
by taut stitches
pierced through
the wreckage.
My angel.
Surrounded
by colour,
bright flowers
that fill the room
with a sweet odour
as they die.
I tell myself
that I can't
smell her too.
The sun
streaming in
through the window
is too hot,
but she shivers.
Now and then.
Her eyes,
so bright
when she looks
at me.
I touch her hair,
and whisper
in her ear.
An angel
wrapped in gauze
prays to a god
she's never seen.
I hold her hand,
long after she's let go.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 8:43 AM UTC
Under rolling clouds
of purest white
stretching over bright
blue skies,
my feet carry me
as if winged
through the lush
green hills of this world
you've shown me.
Your cries carry me
through the deepest
chasms,
and though
I grow weary,
I must carry on.
Time grows short,
fortunes pass unseen.
I yearn only
to gaze upon
your face
once more.
And yet I dread
the words
I know must come.
Past these demons
of darkest nightmares
and through this
dungeon of the
blackest heart.
Through all this hell,
I come to
my hollow reward.
An empty room,
bearing only an echo.
Your princess
is in another castle.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
I remember you,
when the darkness comes.
The prettiest, blackest,
most bottomless eyes
I’ve ever seen.
The shy smile that tugged
at your lips,
and the tender kiss that followed
haunt me like ghosts that laugh
like breaking glass
while I sleep.
You closed your eyes when
I kissed your forehead.
Before I let myself say the words,
that was how I told you
I loved you.
When the darkness comes,
my hands still feel the warm
curves of your body,
your soft dark hair against
my neck,
and your head nestled against my shoulder.
The fire inside dimmed,
and in your arms a calm
took its place.
You squeezed tighter as I held you,
and I loved you more every time.
The words did not come easily,
but truly,
and when I whisper them to
all these empty places,
they echo like rain on the rooftops.
In the dark, I swear to you,
and pray for day.
Your smile was never easy to find,
you hide it well.
I never minded,
because I’ve been told the same.
And because I knew
that when I found it
I had earned the light in your eyes,
and the music of your laugh.
I was special then.
And so were we.
But lies burn more deeply
than the deepest love.
I was always yours.
You were never mine.
I left the day I knew
you would never stay.
I wanted to ask you to come with me.
I wanted you to ask me to take you.
The silent sadness in your eyes
and the weakness in your embrace
told me I was already gone.
I held you tighter that last night,
then watched you walk away.
You never looked back,
and that was when I finally
let myself cry.
The days are quiet now.
Trains pass by, and
you’re never on them.
The sun shines on,
and everyone here goes on
as if nothing ever happened.
They don’t know what I’ve lost.
I die in silence.
When I saw you last,
you were in his arms.
Your laugh made me smile,
even as I fought back the tears.
I watched him kiss you,
and saw the light in your eyes,
the ease of your smile.
I saw you in love.
And when your gaze
flickered to me,
I saw a stranger.
And I wonder now,
when the darkness comes,
when you looked into my eyes,
who did you see?
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
Sun-dried moss
hangs in clumps
from the eaves trough.
Morning dew glittering
in the dawn.
The floorboards,
covered in peeling
gray-blue paint,
crackle and creak
beneath my bare feet.
My joints feel rusted,
and my eyes don’t see
as far as they did before.
Before all that happened
happened.
My hand on the doorframe
is alien to me.
But it moves when I ask,
so it will have to do.
I stagger through
the warm porch,
where a soft,
sweet-smelling breeze
drifts in through
torn metal screens
and cracks in the
rickety door.
I open it as quietly
as I can.
There is only me here,
but I like the quiet.
Three wooden steps
down to a gravel drive
that passes side to side
out front.
Bare feet,
too well-worn to
feel the stones,
tip-toe across
to the rough,
brown-green grass.
My feet are wet
now, and
when they find
the sand just beyond
the patch of grass,
it clings.
I scrunch up my toes,
digging, until I find
the cool, dry
layer below.
The lake is clear,
and the soft rustle
through the pine trees
along the shore
reminds me again of years
gone by.
Sticky fingers,
covered in sap,
pine needles sticking
between my toes,
and scrapes on my shins
that hurt back then,
but sing sweetly in my memory.
I sit on the little beach
between the trees,
crossing my legs,
and plunge my hands
beneath the sand.
Peace.
And what a joy,
to be here
and feel it
in the coarse sand,
the cool caress of morning breeze,
and the utter
silence of the still lake.
Have I come so far,
to wish for so little?
Have I lost something
along my way?
The anger has faded,
and in its place
sits a quiet resolve.
The games they play,
I’ve long since lost,
but finding myself here,
I wonder if I’ve not
come out ahead.
The water calls to me.
I may visit her soon,
once I’ve had my fill
of sand.
The wind grows bolder,
and the pines whistle.
A loon calls out,
somewhere unseen.
I wonder if today I’ll
climb that same tree
from so long ago.
Wonder if it has held
its form better than I,
and which may break
a limb first.
I smile,
because I know
it’s foolish,
and the beach is so
soft beneath me.
Warm and yielding.
But oh,
the sweet,
stinging memories.
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 8:10 PM UTC