The sunshine sets
Over mountains and hills
The blood red of time
No time to fill
The moon rises up
Through the waters of space
Oceans of stars
Spill over your face
Chasing the sky with feet pounding softly
The grass and the dirt and the freedom
Voices are calling and fires are burning
You don't look back 'cause you don't need them
You're running against
You're running within
The path where you live
Has never been thin
There's dread at your heels
And thrill in your heart
The Earth in your veins
Tears you apart
The shifting of plates and the current of cosmos
I yell but my voice doesn't find you
Under a tree, in a glen, on a mountain
A time and a place and a virtue
A bird that flies before it's grown
You found your home in a world unknown
You broke to pieces in every corner
A single atom escaped today
Safe and sound a foreign concept
Blue beyond repair
Layers deep in plastic promise
Seaweed in your hair
A river of silt
A forest of flame
The world is a fish bowl
And the fish are to blame
You keep running still
Through thickest of night
You, losing your chains
Me, losing my sight
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 3:54 PM UTC
The witch watches withered nights
Falling, flying through their heights.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 10:56 AM UTC
I see it there
The curtain on the wall
Where there is no window.
There is nothing to cover,
Yet it stays tied shut.
The lace tails quiver
With imaginary wind;
It drips with
Invisible rain.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
The selkie sits on solemn sands,
Her hair a curtain wet.
She sings her songs of splendid seas -
A shining silhouette.
Her lily coat lies loosely strung,
Her shoulders slim and white,
She sighs with sounds of salty spray;
A voice of naught and night.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
We are the thrones
Sitting squat in the gutter
Our bodies are charcoal
Our fingers are bone.
We are the colors
Washed out from the river
Through cobblestone curtains
The ravens have flown.
We are the maps
Of a civilized city
With sleek silver Saturns;
A chrome-cluttered rave.
We are the glances
Thrown sharp over shoulders
To plot shallow stumps
Of our moss-swallowed grave.
Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
I have seen Death
And he isn't a bone-white, saggy old man
Or a dark hood with a cape
And a vile, gleaming sickle.
No, Death is much different
Than the stories of horror
Painted in humanity.
Death has a sweet face
And soft, warm hands.
He holds you while you're weeping
And takes all your sorrows
With a sweep of his arm,
The twitch of his brow.
He catches the hearts of teenagers
With flowers splattered on their skin
And fire in their fingers;
Itching and uncomfortable on their own home.
He pulls away the chains
In the young's unspoken minds.
As they fly through the air
Out their Peter Pan windows
He is right there beside them,
And the bitter taste of pills
Is masked by his lips.
You see, Death is so attractive
With foggy fingertips on hearts,
The young and the lonely
Jump into his arms,
Make split-decisions in his smile
While he just tries
To soften the blow.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
Little Miss Mirror Eyes
Danced all alone
To a music none other could hear.
For no one came close
To Miss Mirror Eyes Joan
And the terror her two eyes drew near.
Some people would say
You could see how you die
In the looking-glass pools of her gaze,
Others said the truth
Of your soul lies in the eye;
If you sinned she would set you ablaze.
But Miss Mirror Eyes
Didn't mean none no harm
And the globes in her skull weren't bad.
But because she could see
And laid truth on her arm
She never, at no one, was mad.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
The faceless young woman
Who lives in my house
Is rare as a spirit to see.
She hides inside mirrors
And chillies the room,
But it hasn't been bothering me.
Although she's not social
And odd to the eye,
She often has some kind of glow.
And one time over tea
She spoke slowly of
The time that she spent down below.
She had lived through the plague
And the crusades and more
But died one black day of a noose.
For the people, she said,
Back then and e'er since
Found women with voices obtuse.
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
How do you expect
Anyone to write in this
Really weird format?
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
To the man who fell in love with the sea
Come back to me, come back to me.
Who, in the waves found yourself free
Come back to me, come back to me.
Whose eyes lit wide like a banshee
Come back to me, come back to me.
You dove down seep and tried to see
The under-water majesty
You went down, down, I guarantee
Your love for the sea was much more than for me.
Come back to me,
Come back to me.
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 11:50 AM UTC