The slits of glass give way to light,
Which cuts through the air and sun leeched curtains.
It falls weightless on warming skin,
Breathing life into stillness.

A gentle caress, a sultry glance;
Statuesque, they cast shadows on the wall.
Shadows that illuminate and contour,
Express and entrance.

Longing rapture in eyes, incandescent and iridescent;
Loveless yet sensuous silken skin that tells of life well lived.
Your broken heart rests on shoulders, colored and vivid;
A world is painted in timeless elegance.

What horrors has she seen? Said the looker so enthused.
What grandness has passed her eye? Says another just as true.
Oh the colors so earthen tell of pleasures and sorrows, yet whisper of frailty.
They speak in tongues that can never be trusted, only pondered.

The intricate oil work from a badger’s fair coat,
Show delicate and smooth,
All the features of her roistering frame;
Passions of the heart now told by passions of the brush.

The life is still, but forever infinite.

There are such horrors a man can do.
Such troubles a man will know,
That when dawn brings blood and dew,
Those troubles a man will show.

When the sand blows freely and hot,
And the earth is dry and frail,
Those lives lost perhaps for naught,
will show cheeks a whiter shade of pale.

Now those dead lie still in the leeching sun,
While red lies leech the living,
For when great horrors are done in fun,
The men show no forgiving.

So speak none, but sing and chant,
and sleep none, but rhyme and rant,
For revolution rings in their hearts,
Believing bloodshed proves their parts.

They remember not the massacre today,
But the future; whose foundation they've laid,
For when they look back on such horrors, they will say:
The greater good is where lines blur from white to grey.

She was a lost and beautiful skeleton,
Caught looking at the sunrise,
Torn by images of him; like firelight,
They flickered in her eyes,
Burning; the smoke clouded blue skies.

He was a big and invisible boulder,
She kept heavy on her shoulders,
Her body trembling under the weight,
Her mind, riddled with love and hate.

But show your cat teeth to the lion,
And carry it no longer,
For with time, we’ll make it into sand,
So agreed, you’re keeping my hand.

Like a flower in a human skin coat,
You’ll wilt before you bloom,
Like a gardener in your colorful, cool, garden,
I’ll care for your tomb.
So keep your eyes on the sky skeleton girl,
Soon you’ll see the sun.

An old man whispers softly,
Bowing before the old grey stones,
Tears falling lightly on the brim;
Petals falling to the earth.

His fingers feel the coarse of death,
The cold stone, with words so heavy and grim,
Carries with it life, coursing deep in its veins.
A life now forlorn in the earth below.

Dressed in stark formality; his respects for the dead,
He yearns for the warmth in his hands,
The grace of his feet; the light of his head,
One last dance was all he asked.

Now waiting in the familiar silence of years come to pass,
He rested his eyes and let his head fall;
Quiet was the day when his heart followed suit.
Yet, in his redolence a golden tune had filled the yard.


And the gold had spread, captivating and encapsulating,
The leaves the flowers, the stones and fences,
All veiled in a vibrant hue of a time gone by,
Ethereal was the hand that guided him through nostalgia’s sweet haze.

Now vigor had taken him: embodied with life he stood,
The hands he so tenderly held once now returned to him,
Warm were their touch, though living they were not;
He knew this, his eyes closed in reverence.

The gentle tune had guided their sways,
With revived vitality he made his dance with death,
Graceful were their swings that led the ball,
Elegant were the strings that filled the hall.

With reluctance he made his final twirl,
Dropping her deep in a final embrace;
The music crescendos to finale,
Sorrowful, he lets a longing, loving smile escape.

Just as well, she escapes his fingers,
The breeze whispers softly the words of lovers;
Tender was his smile now, he opened his eyes and looked high above,
Not questioning where or how, but grateful beyond love.

He ran his hands on the cold stone once more,
His fingers feeling the smooth of love rather,
Those words now carrying with them the world he’ll leave behind,
As he walks down the green, cut path;
Leaving the graveyard for the very last time.

Blowing in the wind,
Smells of salt; a hazy mist,
Sands of time run through sands so fine,
Damp with the tide that crashed like a fist,
The sun on the horizon starts to fade.

Cold and crisp, we sift through the waves,
Capped ice; a foaming delight,
They fill the air with sounds so fair,
Our toes fall through the water like an anchor,
The light falls and the night reigns.

Fingers upon fingers, playing on their own,
We fall through the air; cutting the sky,
My back to the earth, yours to the moon,
Our gaze locks like lovers leading light between us,
The sounds of the world come alive.

A gentle caress against skin so soft,
A kindled embrace, rolling against sand so coarse,
Passions flair in the darkness, the night breathes heavy,
As the ocean kisses the sands, so too our lips,
Whispers and sighs cut through the crashing flood.

In the dark, windy eve shines stark an orange light
Crisp and warm, caressing the wood curves gently; no fight,
The harsh burn breathes life to the embers, now shining bright,
A veil of smoke falls gently, hazy is the night.

Now traveling up the stock, whose polish: iridescent,
Up to the paling, rugged cheeks whose glow: florescent.
In the blue moonlight, his eyes shine pleasant,
Enjoying the taste, thought, life, love; vibrant.

Sitting in a weathered chair, creaking wood, rocking back to and fro,
He sat still, thoughtful, as pristine as wax, as delicate as snow.
Taking drags in the dark, the orange relax, a seedling starting to sow,
The stem broke the soil, words forming in his mouth, questions starting to sough.

He looked up from his stupor, sharp minded, clear and concise,
A solution to his problem, no matter its cause, had broken the ice.
Now he stood tall, elated, anxious, worried his words would suffice,
Then he sat back down, rewarded, confident his ideas would entice.