Father Fire, make me ashes.
The widow Wind carries tears
With every rainfall,
Forever mourning
Brother Breeze.
Factory chimneys stole his
Soul.

Make me light enough for her
Arms.
Feathers, strands of hair,
Fog breath.
Carry me as these while you
Dance in sorrow.

I will dance with you
Until grandfather Time
Finally rests as
Forever.

Father Fire, make me ashes.
My heart belongs
With other things of lightness.
Fleeting thoughts, stolen
Looks between young lovers;
Warming remarks between
Strangers on a
Winter street
Smiling.

Everything leads back to you in the end.

There is poetry in my blood.
Some blood in my poetry, like that
Fresh from a broken heart
On a band-aid lip kissing
Old pain into fresh pleasure,

And promising truth, comfort and
Loyalty within a blizzard of rose
Petals and cotton candy dandelion,
Being easier to believe than anything
Else ever.

There's poetry in my blood. Cells
Red as new love; white cell soldiers
Devouring infectious threats; poison
Lies and painful heartless behaviour
Such as infidelity or being broken

Up with, in a bed at night; in a
Blossoming garden, or worse,
With a pen in hand, mid-love,  
Mid-poem; mid-
Heartbeat.

Poetry written on cave walls
Of distant planets in other galaxies
Is still comprehensible to human
Hearts.

The stars look the same
From there.

They say the American flag planted
In moon dust is nothing but a
Sun bleached white piece of cloth
By now.

All things, it seems, given enough
Time and exposure

Become requests for
Peace
In the
End.

Sun shining on the white shells
Of pearls cradled in mid-day warm
Sands will not excuse herself

For making them sparkle hot
Under her invisible hands.
Snow landing on the faces of

The battleground fallen
Rests as easily as on the forehead
Of a fever ridden child now soothed.

Tides rise and withdraw, rains
Drench even the drowning.
This is why you must feel the pain

You do. Finish this bad day.
Meet tomorrow
Older.

Would I die a happy man
If I heard my name
Rumble across the Norwegian plains
And forest hills tomorrow?

Would I turn my back on all
That's mine; leave it untouched
And walk into arms
Of loving light and not look over

My shoulder?
Did I love?
Did I lose?
Did I laugh?

Did I scream?
I fought.
I sat at times and thanked.
For everything.

My hand never left my sword.
The other held glass, held pen,
Held breast.
My mouth held some of the rest.

I put pride and disappointment
In the eyes of my parents.
Put praise and curse on the lips
Of my brother,

Had many a friend, lost old,
Made new.
Did things I hoped I never would do.
Regrets like mine, are for the few.

I've seen shadows I cannot explain
Dance between trees in the
Morning hours. I've slept by a
Bonfire, face tickled by silken

Showers of morning dew, and
Knew that I didn't sit alone.
I've seen trolls hit by sunlight
Scream and turn into stone.

I've let myself down.
Put my name to shame.
My head has hurt many a girl...
But my heart has conquered worlds.

So I'll stand when I'm called
With my back straight as trees.
I've written my poetry,
Many a piece

That might live forever, unlike
My own coil.  
Buried deep within
Internet soil.

Some time in the future
When all that I know
Has vanished and died like
Last winter's snow,

And the sword that they bury
My bones with is less
Than rust coloured dust on the
Dust of my chest,

Some poem I wrote might
Oblivion resist.
...I hope to the gods it is
Better than this.