be still, my love, it's all ok
or will be soon, I hope
the world, with sweaty palms, still clings
to fraying bits of rope
the plants, they like it warmer
and the animals can cope
(or those that hold tight, anyway,
to fraying bits of rope)
what’s wood made for, if not a flame?
the creatures can elope
the forests singe another inch
of fraying bits of rope
and now it's time to go, my love,
to journey down the slope
you didn't learn, and so you lost
your fraying bits of rope
Mar 17, 2020
Mar 17, 2020 at 9:23 AM UTC
bury, then, my circumstance
within the broken ground
unmarked in the growing weeds
to never have it found
and when they come with shovels
to unearth the name you gave
tell them that it's decomposing
cold within the grave
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 5:42 PM UTC
i beg of your forgiveness, Aphrodite, as you've found
that all your proper judgements have i here already made:
around love's gentle finger have i been so tightly wound
that no point would there be in asking any other's aid
Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 2:56 PM UTC
bring me to the garden
let me walk between the reeds
let me say good morning
to the flowers and the weeds
let me greet the birds above
and all the worms below
moving through the softened soil
to help the flowers grow
smell the sweetest summer rose
feel every spine and thorn
pass the rounded mound of dirt
where little bugs are born
bring me to the garden
in the early morning sun
bring me to the garden
when the cold of night is done
Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 12:53 PM UTC
my body is a prism
for light will shine in all the spectrum's colors
every shifting hue a freckle on my shoulders
every ray of light a bug bite on my ankles
i'll wear each shade of blue within my eyes and all the reds upon my face
and greens and violets in my heart
my heart
my heart
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC
for all the love i bear for you
eventually ill pay
the price of love is grief, i fear
amassed along the way
and when the debt collector comes
to claim the pay that's due
he'll take the love and leave the grief
with either me or you
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 9:13 AM UTC
softly blows the morning breeze
a whisper to the Autumn leaves
who all respond in gentle song
a cadence to the trees
cold digs into heart and bone
a visitor, now summer's gone
to quiet down the bugs and birds
preparing for the snow
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 9:07 AM UTC