I saw the rain fall sideways,
striking the cello case cruelly.
The case was white and beaten,
weathered and worn.
It was sad to be alone in the rain.
I could almost hear the cello sing
from inside its case,
like a trapped songbird
forced to play the saddest
of songs
for no other reason but
to make others feel as sad as
itself.
I hold my breath and the rain
taps on the case,
tap
tap
tapping noisily
for the cellos attention,
but he does not come out
and play,
and I dont blame him.

I look up to a clouded sky
filled with dragons.
Its once bleak, pale
rolls of imprisoned rain,
now illuminated in
strikes of red gold and
yellow.
a flighty beast that
rules the empty space above,
it looks down in pity
to our shameful selves.
We do not run,
no
we are too afraid to run,
instead we cower,
and cry mercy,
though we deserve none.
So we die exactly the way
we were born,
screaming
afraid
and blind to the truth of life.

Her eyes,
they were these
chasms of glass violet
magnifying the beauty
within.
Her gaze
held me silent
for days on end.
I had no words that
could match her beauty,
so I stayed silent,
but in my silence
I never got to
tell her to stay.
And now she is gone.

If I am a madman,
how will I know?
Will I catch a glimpse
of myself climbing
to an empty roof top.
Will I hear an inner laugh
or see that my reflection
is fractured?
How will I know?
Do the perpetual voices
in my head
render me mad?
Or is it just my conscience
arguing my sanity?
I know I am marred
but nobody is perfect.
We are inferior
to ourselves.
And
since when did
brilliance
never harbor
insanity.

Do you remember the first time
that you kissed her?
Your lips were dry
and they stuck to hers,
only slightly,
but enough to make your cheeks go red.
From that moment you were
overcome
by an insufferable desire to
grasp love with a tireless grip.
She became your everything
in the midst of that kiss.
Her voice
was the most beautiful voice.
Her smell
was the most incredible smell.
Her hair
was the most magnificent hair.
Her smile
was unmatched to any smile ever seen.
You will never find that same infatuation
that you found from your first love.
Your childhood love.
And you will never feel heart break
like the first time
that you see her kissing
your next door neighbour
for a go on his new push bike.
Your broken,
scarred,
but you  learned something that day.
That life goes on
no matter how marred
love can make you.

The city sleeps among its incandescence,
however,
she does not.
she watches,
she waits.
Locked in the safety
of her ivory tower,
her pale nakedness
becoming a silky glow in
the dim light of the room.
She is imprisoned
by her beauty,
though she is loved by many
she loves only one.
She waits up for him,
as a stranger
to the sea of sheets
that cling to her bare legs.
She hears footsteps
from down the hall
and questions,
is it her lover?
or is it another
who insists to pay for
her love.
She works the night,
a high end harlot.
Her sorrow wanes
like a wounded cry from
a beaten wolf.
Knuckles wrap against
the hotel door,
and she turns her gaze
from the city outside the window,
her hair moving
like dancing rays of
stolen light.
She reaches for the lipstick
on the night stand,
and walks bare skinned
and beautiful to the door.

I am a slave to winters ruin.
My skin
torn by the eastern wind,
and the once torrid flame
in my heart
has now become a marred
flicker of light.
Where is the passion?
The soul?
The love?
Since when did silent
whispers cut like
Damascus steel?

I can only guess
that is since losing you........