Barely seen,
Barely known,
Barely understood,
Barely remembered.

Why did you have to go before
Eyes could see you,
Hearts could know you,
Compassion could understand you,
Love could remember everything about you?

Why did you have to go
In spite of the fact
That I do and will
See you,
Know you,
Understand you,
And remember you?

Why did you have to go before time could do the same?

I miss the nights spent
Under warm candle light,
Writing poetry together
Under the sheets
Of stormy skies.

I miss the mornings
Slipping through the fingers
That play with strands
Of wine red hair
And porcelain skin.

I miss the days that
Could have been,
If only I would have been
Brave enough to see
Myself in your eyes.

I miss the evenings
Caressing the glow
Of your life-giving,
ever-beckoning lips.

I miss the moments
That never happened.
I miss what we've never shared.
I miss the love that might've...

So you blame the roses for the locust swarm
That eats away at their beauty
And drench their joyful fragrance
In misery...

Where the **** is the insecticide?

lost fragrances of easy summer mornings
when all she knew was the dirt
between her toes
and scattered throughout her
golden hair.

lost melodies of lazy summer days
when all she knew was the water
of river susurrations
and warmest shortlived rains
caressingly falling.

lost bites of ripe summer evenings
when all she knew was the sweetness
of rose-red lips
and shared apricots with she
of auburn hair.

lost glances of torrid summer nights
when all she knew was the lust
of her youth
and the wine shared between
first loves.

lost times of summer's end
when all she knew was gone.

there's green all throughout
the silver droplets,
coiling about the warmth
of powder-blues and roaring magentas.

there's green all throughout
the golden threads,
winding around the jubilee
of cream-whites and vibrant citrines.

there's green all throughout
the copper clays,
swirling between the renewal
of xantic petals and extatic lilacs.

there's green all throughout
the joyous weeping
of spring.

I need the rain.

Hard,
broken,
dessicated limbs hang
low and heavy
like twin pendulums
of shattered lead.

I need the storm

Cold,
cracking,
drained roots coil
notted and gnarled
like a cage
of sun bleached bone.

I need the flood.

Dark,
engulfing,
suffocated leaves wither
rusted and dying
like an endlessness
of time-ground sand.

I need the void.

You break your back
To plow fertile their
Squalid earth.

You sweat
under the wailing sun,
Beneath their barbed wire
Whips.

You give your flesh
To satiate they hunger.

And what do you get in return?

A place for you head.

The chopping block.