Early morning icicles hitching a ride on a chilled wind
                                  ....so cold

My thoughts tread-milling to the memory of a  faded history of continued decay and chaos
                                  ......so old

My cards stacked with life's hate, i heard it whisper, it despises me
                                     .....I fold

These words spinning in my head, luminescent colors cloaks the fiber of it's being, unaware of it's true power
                                     ....so bold


As we exchange the words of wisdom with our tongues entwined as one, selling my soul to you willingly
                                 ..........i'm sold

advise of old wisdom, told by the ageing pillars of all our
communities, conveyed the colorful lives lived
                                   .......i'm  told

i scribble and tear these pages, words screaming for me to release them from the cages within my mind, seeping onto these pages,
line by line
                                   ......it unfolds

There is only me
picking up acorns
from
under the oak tree,
just me
keeping an eye on the weather,

it looks like it might rain.
I look like I might cry,
but appearances
like performances
are subject to
cancellation.

He gave me dead flowers
So I can smell them every day
The rotten petals falling
The color of decay

The washed out sunflower
The dehydrated leaves
The mold on the water
The color of debris

The richly red rose
Now drooping to the floor
The color of love
Existed no more

But still I saved the flowers
And smelled them every day
And watered them with tears
To let them grow again.

you left your blueish dress
twisted by the pool’s edge
like a cold monument
to every single misstep
and my heart is overwhelmed
with visions of a dancing grave

via crucis in the morning
carry me to our palisade
while these tiny arcs of light
leave my eyes, breaking easily
and your voice keeps me awake
i believe that i need this

you were wrong
i am nothing
but one more familiar face
amid the pageantry