you cannot burn down history
it's not made of wood,
but hearts, skin,
and that empty feeling in your chest

Tranquil
waters
mirror
cloud
infested
skies

Oceans
serenade
in
deep
dark
tones

While
trees
whisper
sacred
lullabie­s

The nights are cold
and the days,
they are long.
Another sleepless night,
wondering what went wrong.
And my thoughts,
they whisper to each other
constantly, keeping me awake
as I lie in bed.
Over and over,
a cacophony of confusion
let loose
inside my weary head.

For the problem lies not
with words misused
or words misread,
but with the ones which
were more than often unheard,
and much too often unsaid.
The words are again unspoken; the feelings,
repressed, and unwoken.
I am left broken.
Shackled
and caged behind the bars I've made
for myself.
Down.
Down.
Down, I am laid.

And as the days becomes long, the nights grow colder
and every waking moment I grow
just a little bit older.
A familiar darkness comes,
creeping closer.
A harrowing feeling thaws through me.
Tapping a touch upon my shoulder.
It wears a dark cloak and holds a scythe.
It offers, like many times before
to release me from this life.

But not just yet.
For now,
the noose hangs loose.
And my wrists covered.
And the sea waves silenced
and those thoughts smothered,
just for now.

I was blinded at first,
I don't know how I found you.
Could not see, but could feel,
so I, raveled, unwound you:
Aurora unreal,
wrapped in ribbons and crowned,
you made blessings of curses
I'd ignored looking downward.

Plot holes and thought games
were ploys of the passionate
who'd answer his question
before even asking it.
Knowing the cost
of the dignity lost,
and so clear that the price would be paid,
I would still play that game
all **** day.

When your magnetic field
rerouted the map,
the shift was a gift
fallen into my lap.
Your voice constant hums
what I could not be told:
*Turn the corner ahead
and the streets are all gold.