She loves shiny things,
and perhaps that's the reason why
she adores all stars at night.

The only thing she doesn't like
is how all glittery magics disappear
when all her reals are gone
she was left to wipe
her eyes to dry.

new possibilities
with old dreams

a brand new start
on a journeys end

a new life
that has lived

we are blessed
to see other opportunities

She could blow away,
Burnt to blurry ashen pieces
Of limbs cindered to smoke,
Bespoke pain for a
Place of her own making.

She could sink behind the skyline,
Bleeding death to
A time when she was solid,
And she and the sky
Were definitively separate.
That time when she could cry
And clouds could rain.

But now their tears fall the same
And she is blown away.

Poetry runs through our veins. Meant for cold hearted people, whose hearts are covered up with stains.
Until pure love is the only thing on this planet that rains.

Flowers lost in measure
At an outstretched hour
Born sightless in the once
Sacrosanct hedgerows
Picked belatedly

--And invisibly so--

Taken from their family
To unconditional surrender
Upon a cold stark table
Where those assembled
Finished off love with their meal

--And invisibly so--

Anywhere the compass may point,
It leads to a single place.
There my  hands tremble,
As thoughts accumulate into words,
Afraid it will not be enough, every time.
My guts, tighten and my heart sink deep,
Though the eyes want to tell the story,
They are afraid of someone reading it
I know it will perish- me and my poetry.
The black crow sitting on my porch,
Explains how it's vexing him.

I understand and for him, I drop the pen,
Staring at the clouds I hope for rain.