Sunlight streams through a crystallized window pane
flinging fragments of light across the wall.
Clear, my eyes take in this unclad display
as the ticks of the clock mark a lifeline of passing.
Shadows begin to flee the assailing of light;
Inner angles and crevices of darkness taken over,
quietly seeking to displace my blurred blackness.

Naked in pining, my exposed loneliness allays,
striking in exchange to the gracility of the dawn.
Beams ***** my furtive senses,
caressed with enravishment in every breath and sigh.
Seconds pass, keepsakes pass in slides
quickly moving against my focus;
Remembrances of happiness and treasure.

A elevating breeze floats in
as I crack the casement to the outside world.
The pane, chilly along my fingertips.
Apart in my seclusion and isolation,
rivulets of moisture streak down my face,
after the frailty and withdrawal dictated after loss
bows to the command for closeness.

A whisper of covenants drift along the air,
carried by a past, gentle announcement given freely.
It directly corrodes this battered brokenness.
I inhale the sweetness of paradise lost,
and step forth into the clear morning
with certitude inscribed on an arrow in my breast.
I begin my day, without you, again.

blackened universe
sprinkled with centuries
alight in resplendent diamonds

veiled celestial archway
dancing against the velvet darkness
an endless sea of origination

a luminous heaven
vast in unknown desires
deep exhalation in the abyss

skies blanketed in wisdom
arrested beauty in light
I intone, in reverence

Nervous in her life station,
she tries to contain her anguish.
Her changes show compulsion:
a default haircut to appease,
posture straight to put at ease.
A variant of herself in paint
stares back from the dingy mirror;
A convict so fallen,
infected with poison to testify.
For the value of the hustle
they pander to combine.

Her whisper of wording, in ears,
given in platitudes to entice -
ease her anxiety. She feels
like a suspect in contradiction.
The laugh in her head is cutting,
though musical to the lustful
climate in her employ,
and the benefit of the coup
will keep her on the narrow highway
they have violated her on.
She will soldier on. It is
central to her survival through the lies.

Perched along a limb
in the darkening, mercurial eve,
the trickster hovers in mania.

Wingspan iridescent in the shadows,
he stands sharp in his observation
blending in to the dark night.

An indomitable eye in focus,
unceasing with his hoarse call -
Bitter and biting in sound.

He balefully takes flight
gliding over his bounteous kingdom,
secure in the wily, swindling con.

A harbinger of evil,
an omen follows his glide:
the reaper is soon to follow.

The sudden silence provokes
a chill down the spine
curling 'round in stirring fright.

Taking a warlike stance,
he circles over his unsuspecting prey.
Venomous in his feast and descent.

A scythe, sharpened steel,
gripped tightly in bloodless hands;
a lone cloaked being whispers commands.

Rumbles strike open the dirt
in the graveyard beside the oak.
Silhouettes manifest, crawling through the night.

The trickster surveys the siege,
as screams rent through the sky.
The eve of madness is upon us.

The mirror is not my friend today,
just like it wasn't last week.
The reflection I see when my eyes peer in
makes me cringe with each sob,
showing a person I'm not sure I remember,
or one that I don't really want to.

"Not today!" I plead with what I see.
"I promised I would try harder!"
Yet that girl stares back,
disfigured and worn. Imperfection
reflected in the smudged glass
I can't look away from each morning.

Her eyes are too down-turned,
dripping pain down her face.
Her nose - too large - a flaw
she got from her grandpa.
Her shoulders - too broad - hold
her head too low, and her
thick arms she got from her mom.

Too small lips, a pointy chin,
and a wide forehead besides.
Two *******, scrutinized, on her chest:
sag from nursing two babes.
A dimpled stomach, with a wide placed scar,
usually camouflaged with lumpy clothing.

A pinch of fat here, dinner
skipped will make her feel a bit better.
Boxes of rouge to define what she can.
Necessary changes, needed to feel right -
Hours spent trying to fix what I can't.
Beauty hidden behind the reflection,
someone I won't ever meet.

"I tried." I whisper to the empty space.
"I'll never see what they see."
She turns her back to me,
the reflection no longer staring back.
Try again tomorrow, I'm reminded.
Maybe then I can leave my home.

Blossoming moonlit spirit -
a sea of sacred lotus.
A whole heavenly creation
built up from muddy depths.
Sanctuary in the resurrection -
A beautiful revival.

Assembled seashells
glittering the sandy shore,
lie as trophies from an ocean storm
shifting from deep to shallow.
Bringing fortune in symmetry -
jogging memories of past journeys
dropped from the energy
fueled by the waves.
Cradled in beds of seaweed,
salted and dried, deserted on the shore.
Tales of the sea's mysterious voice,
whispering secrets in your ear.
Gems from the unchanging sea -
a display I collect to treasure.

A bend shows in my pathway
ahead. A chilled breeze
knocks against my brain.
Fiery hues surround my
reflections. Missing her
laugh and embraces.
Warm memories floating
like scenes in a storybook.
The leaves maintain their turning
and life keeps moving on.
So I'll journey down this path
that we walked in days past.

In a garden filled by inky night
she reads by fairy firelight
with dreams of magic and of cheer,
in a land when fantasy draws near.

Where unicorns flutter in mid-air,
and fairies shimmer with stardust hair.
Dragons twirl brazenly in a silky clouded sky,
while knights suited on horseback stoutly ride by.

Grinning trolls armored with riddles creep
to divert from their overgrown castle's keep.
The moon princess softly trills a serenade,
and frolics in an open cornflower filled glade.

Flaxen mermaids with encrusted combs of stone
sit on tufts of a verdant seaweed throne
whispering tales of prized treasures aglow
buried deep beneath in the sea below.

Stars blanket in the velvet overhead
as she sits and savors the legends read.
The sights found in writings all retold
are worth more to her than pirate's gold.