I have seen such suffering,
I have lived such sorrow,
raining down like ash
to smother tiny voices
and small bird wings.
I ask why, but the answer
is never clear --
revelation is not my
   epiphany.
How can this happen?
Why does this happen?
Such pain --excruciating
   in exactness --
unrelenting in its
unwanted gifts.
I have seen such suffering,
I have lived such sorrow,
   raining down...

In the shadows
grows the nightshade,
I know this well,
for we wondered there.
He laughed outloud
and promised love --
a promise I held fast.
I begged him once
to be in good faith,
and yet he strayed.

In the shadows
I plucked the blossoms,
bitter handfuls,
for my witch's brew,
made so sweet with wine.
He laughed outloud
and drank it down.
I watched and waited,
and smiled at last...

In the shadows
grows the nightshade --
there,too, my lost
   love lies:
lips so cold, and
   vacant eyed.
True to me at last.

Blow by blow
you were the best,
old enemy of mine.
Lightening crashed.
mountains turned to
   dust --
we thundered across
   vast plains.
Armor battered,
sword and hammer
   frought,
and still you fought.
The Gods had
their way with us,
   you know --
calling for that
more than mortal
   combat.
Blow by blow
you were the best,
old enemy of mine.

See-through houses,
   abandoned,
on the high plains.
Lonely vestiges
of failed dreams...
Roses gone wild,
and in the Spring daffodils
to say "We lived here
   once."
The hardships
were too much.
Mule and plow
   and man
could not fight
the droughts.

The vast plain
stretches out;
now ramshackle
   homesteads
weather the ravages
of time --
but the land will win.
Dreams gone. Farmers
   gone...
just a blackbird
in a lone tree,
and daisies.

Days pass,
days pass --
shadows tread
the night.
Hearts break;
glass shatters
   from above.
Grey eyes
blink back
the tears in vain.
And the world
comes slowly
to an end.

Night will never
   betray
our primal lust
for pursuing pain.
That age old
demon
reaches out,
   beckoning
with scaley hands;
whose eyes
have seen the darkest
   sin...
Who are we
but children of
suffering, of the
   night,
of death...

The creamy rose meets the
morn, yet sadness rests upon
the dew-dropped blooms. All
the years in an instant robbed;
my bouquet cascades to the
ground. Tears blinked back.
You are lost, and love is gone --
the trembling leaves have
blown away.