She listened as
the silence filled her being .
She knew the flowers were broken
as was the stillness in the woods.
Malice of Starlight.
Brittle with frost ,
Adrift
Tribeless
in the naked night of dreams
Her lava flowed
In an unrelenting
Quiet fire of silence .

She needed a resurrection
As her storm broke volcanic.
With a simple but deadly logic
She hung on the moon .
A raining heart plucked
From a midnight stream of wraith .

As her stream rushed darkly
Beneath a meadow of ****** white
The eastern sky started to glow .
A whisper in the air ,
A softening light
Troubadours abound
and sing her sad song .

Her soft whisper was first
felt on the last coast of midnight
A wounded soul,
highly wrought pain .
An owl flew low and hid
by the lonely crippled creek .

Past the quivering lips of dawn
a bitter seed erupts
Like the falling bliss
of an ancient creed .
Epic silence
Except for the crunch
As she steps to the grass .

Strewn with age old sorrow
Of the poor and the helpless.
Listening to church bells
And children’s voices
On the wind .

Descending into the swirl of haunting melodies.
Reminiscent of smoke
And darkness .
Her hair was kindled beneath
The aria of dawn .

She celebrated the pleasures
Of the flesh
Of religious lurid rites
Of lusts eloquence.
She wept for the lost magic
In a waning light
Of a primeval forest .
Before trees and fire
Had names .

She searched for a lost
Secret language
That would unlock
Her mysteries.

She carry’s an implacable
Sorrow from childhood.
Her truth was deep
Introvert able sadness.

There was no sacrament
This day ,
No absolution.
Only a rose on fire .

There was nothing hidden inside
No dreams ,
No compromises
It couldn’t be more over .
Sages of broken promises
Down from the mountains
Lost in the rough country.
Hoping for answers to the questions
That have no answers .
Beneath a handsome , lonely old tree .
She couldn’t quite **** him
But, she died a little herself .

Fear was stuck so deep in her heart ,it could not be dislodged .
How to move her anger
past her fear .
He kept her from something
she knew was her pride .

Sowing seeds of despair
Crying tears of regret
So ******* but can’t quite
cut the rope

In love she trusts ,
Driftwood
Deadwood
Broken branches of
Damaged comfort.
Desolate darkness prevails
Black widow answers
To the cinch of the rope .

From another lifetime
Inside a clock that leaks the future .
There is a language
That rolls down from the mountains
That is calling her home .

She walks in the cool mountain air.
Her imagination cannot be concealed or reined in.
She hikes in dawns first light
And dusks last breath
But, even beauty has its limits

Life stabs her in places
Only hope really knows .

In the soft light of an
Early moon
From her swirling Smokey dream
an undertone
You can barely hear .

Into the backwaters of
spiritual rigor and solitude .
Vaguely off balance
Kissed with regret .
Slaying words
Like petals flayed
From the softest rose
Inert and harmless
She rolls over.
A Psalm of praise
To beauty .

But like fire made
of ice
It masks the arc
Of illusion and
Shields the proclamation
Of amnesty.
Of an equally enthralling
And dangerous Woman .

From the threshold of my dreams
Deeply dampened by shame
Clouded by fears
Educated, but colloquial be ******
Trying to keep the door cracked open

Weeping for a woman I did not know
From a time I am not from
Quiet pride and pretty grace
Drenched in the purest sorrow
She was righteous among
The chosen

Not a lot of noise as I
Pass through the years
Though I feel the earths vibration
I feel the blood of the earth
Clouded by the winds desperate vision
I am looking for the promises
I need to believe

As I exit from my dreams
Through the crack in the door
Maybe I am ready to make
Some noise

The dry leaves a whisper
In the cool night air .
The future lurking
Face to face with the moon .
He drank in her sigh.
Inhaled .
This night must last till
there is no tomorrow.
No thorns .
No tears.

Feeling a pleasant stir
Darkness faded and
slipped into perspective.
Ocean dancers dream
The music of the sands .
The young optimistic
The old find acceptance
In dreams that have
Gathered dust .

Spiritually bloodied and beaten
The morning was chaos
In a minor key .
In the waiting air of
The storms eye .
The old growth forest
waded into the shallows
As the wind moaned
like a salty cello .

The flag of her life
was set at half mast .
Following a path
Of fire ,
Of ice .

Listening to the song
of the angels.
Carried on the ancient
winds of sorrow.
She knew all the secret places
between right and wrong .

The angels song was
one of tears
That lightly pushed the waves
Over the thorns .
He ran back from the morning
Fighting the odds of the elements.
She was indegenous as the
roots upheaved from a  withered oak .

A wave of desolate fury
Inside a sea of
Wrongfulness
Or
Righteousness.

The journey is not over .