I am a prisoner
of another's need
to make the world
feel small...
and hollow.
A sacrifice
to someone else's
fears and foibles;
an unholy law
now forced upon
   this weary brow...
I suffer for crimes
   not committed,
for sins never dared.
There is no hope
   of rescue --
there is no helping
   hand.
(Where is my defense?
My redemption?)
No one cares
as long as no
payment is required
   or requested--
only my soul demanded!
Prisoner? Sacrifice?
No difference, no
   matter now...
I have been thrown
   to the wolves,
without remorse,
without conscience,
without a second thought.

February sunrise:
orange fading to yellow,
then even paler yellow.
Skeleton trees
silhouetted against
    the sky.
The colored light
reflected in windows.
A streak of grey.
The stillness is
   enveloping:
no sound, no one.
The sky grows lighter --
telephone poles stand
   guard.
Houses still slumber
this February morn.

An endless, coarse rain --
   here, now --
yet, another time,
   another place,
the sun reigned upon
our world...
it was brief and it was
   brittle --
we did not know...
did not choose to think
beyond what was then
our "here and now":
no rules, ro rhyme,
   nor reason.
We thought we would
never end --
   or did we really
   think?
We believed the dream
we dreamed;
our web painstakingly
   spun.
Dew drops shone
on slender threads,
like diamond-fire...
yet, as the dew fades
   past dawn,
our world vanished
before our eyes --
slipping through
our finghertips --
lost beyond our grasp.
And so, this day --
   here, now --
we settle for the rain
to wash away the grief,
wash away the sin --
   (no promises made) --
to quickly, mercifully
wash  our memories away.

We must dare
to dream
extravagant;
to celebrate
   the unique.
Each day is our
   opportunity --
each choice
our special
   gift.

Birds, as black and shiny
as the sins of night.
Their cries:
chilling memories of
   blank promises.
The bleak horizon
offered nothing --
yet nothingness
   belonged to us...
and too those birds,
and too those sins.
Night became us
   then...

Daylight, long since
   shunned --
the night becomes
our world.
Pale lovers share
their salty kisses:
   each embrace
assaults the void.
Knives flash,
then are hidden --
lives are spared
down the dim alleys
   of 'Never-End',
where (once treaspassed)
we now dare to walk.
Tired mysteries stir --
awaking to secrets
   shared,
and sometimes kept;
to sinful debts
that must be paid.
Sleepless shadows
****** and sway
   demanding courage...
   (testing faith?).
But, we know too well
the dark to be
our only friend.
Sweating out its passion,
craving pleasure's pain...
swearing oathes
   in whispers;
breathing vengence
to be made.
Empty hours:
   filled with careful
   dreams...
Empty hearts:
careless choices
   breaking all.
The sad mercy
of a moment's rest
comes at break-neck
   speed.
Gutters fill with
lust and blood --
minds are eased;
memories erased.
No promises need
   cross our lips,
only those sweet lies
best told in the warm
   darkness
of our endless night.

The bees cried --
(having witnessed the reptilian law) --
they knew their own purpose was to be
   a mortal sting: of flesh, of blood,
    of soul...
Their vision: an amber tear of death,
of pain, of the blackest love...
And the shimmering serpents --
    once there, now here, yet there again --
observed the bees, with scaled eyes,
    and yawned...
they were the ancient gods,
still holding fast to their slithering
    sequined power --
bound to earth, they watched the bees...
and forgave their winged messengers.