I like the way you hide the wisdom in your hair,
Those starlight-silver strands collecting in your midnight.

I love the way you shy away from your age,
While the shadows dance within.

I adore the gray brush strokes
That entwine
And blend
On raven feathers
Of dark black hair.

witnessing the cracks
in your feeble armor
tears a whole
through a heavy heart.

I can feel the scars
upon your broken coil
and the salt flats
below your eyes.

he spilled the blood
of his bitter fists
upon that cardboard frame
the world calls your body.

he cleaved at the brittle coal
that is your aching bones,
yet you still carry yourself
upon the winter winds.

he spat in the ocean of your soul.

yet you hold on tight
to his arm,
as if he is the anchor
that keeps you safely in the bay.

and all you need do is obey.

fearful of the storm beyond,
of the deep blue of endless
possibility...
you stay within the confines
of a jagged little shoreline.

he is the rope aroung your nape
and you can't help but hang yourself.

a chance to deliver
auspicious nuggets of gold
flaked hope.

a small change,
yet one remembered.

a step back
from scorching ground,
powdered leaves,
broken bone
and
years of never.

a small step,
yet one remembered.

a fear unknown
to all the numbered
beats within a heart.
terror lingered,
envy of a self I've yet to be.

a fear,
unforgotten.

still as the wind
would allow me to be,
witnessing her
as vibrant
as only a dream
would seem.

eyes of green,
eyes of dream,
eyes of fading leaves
in a hot August sun.

still as the earth
would allow me to be,
absorbing her
as impermanent
as only a revery
could ever be.

eyes of green,
eyes of dream,
eyes of shaded clay
under blades of sage.

still as the fire
deep within my heart
could burn.

gazing longer than I should.

still as the the gentle ocean
of her chartreuse eyes,
reveling in her
marble meadow,
with those twin ponds
of green,
in a passe-partout of
ebony locks of wilderness.

gazing longer than I should.
gazing longingly
at her eyes of endless summer,
eyes of green,
eyes of dream.

thousands of wasps
swirl around me
in a painful display.

I sting myself with insecurities.

hundreds of rats
drop from above
in a torrent of decay.

I plague myself with insecurities.

packs of wolves
dance around the stars
gnawing rabid at my flesh.

I rend myself with insecurities.

gargantuan paws dig
away at the dirt that
I was made of.

I bury myself in insecurities.

ursine hunger rips
and tears into
a still beating heart.

I starve myself with insecurities.

frost wrecked skies
crack above me
and fall sharp into
a dancing mind.

I wish for honey,
but I sting myself
instead.

I don't deserve anything else.

I went down those stairs,
And through that door,
Between the ancient columns
Of old and forgotten stone.

The air was made of crystals.

Hope danced above,
And around,
Flickering golden and silver
In the cold winter lights.

The air was made of crystals.

I could feel again,
As if the numbness thawed
In that single moment
Spent by the fireplace
Of someone willing to
Listen.

The air was made of crystals.

And I went down those stairs,
And through that iron door,
And past those frost covered columns.

And the air was made of crystals.

whispers in the wind
of a remembered
tomorrow
that will never
come to pass.

shades of broken glass
trapped in the crimson
soles of tired feet
break apart in
a multitude of
echoing patterns.

a hunger for something
without shape,
without substance,
without the traced outline
of neverending desperation,
howls deep within the throat.

bottled yesterdays
shattered on the marble
of ever-shimmering amnesia
creaking like bones
inside an hourglass on the edge
of an untangling rope.

all that is left is to hope
for a quick bite of the river
that turns all tomorrows
into forgotten yesterday.