the gently sun peeks through
the long clouds stretching out
across the horizon
and up into the morning sky

a parade of silhouetted leafless trees
march up and down the hillside

the earth spinning in a perfect
and endless pirouette

the seasons always on the move
coming and going
gone and here again

nearby the moon practicing
her crescent smile
the stars applying
their shimmer and shine
the night dying its blanket
in a new wash of pitch black
the shortest day of the year racing by
collecting the last
of what it can find for warmth

and somewhere off in the wings
winter is shaking the last
of autumns dusk from her coat
waiting for the curtains to close
the stage to be reset
the lights to dim

waiting for the moon to walk out
on her tightrope
far above the crowd below
to see her perfect practiced
crescent smile light the stage

winter enters on the back
of the great north wind
a wind that in a certain light
at a certain angle
sometimes looks like
a great white wolf
with mischievous eyes

winters footsteps litter the stage with snow
her skin reflecting cool blues
and cold lights
somehow offers a special warmth
the warmth of

sleeping children dreaming
of snowmen and sleigh rides
little mice finding feasts
in what we would call crumbs
far away fathers remembering
quite nights and home fires
expectant mothers waiting impatiently
for cozy blankets and bedtime stories
for the long and lonely grief
to remember what once was
and to feel that joy again
and to smile in knowing
that no one is truly ever gone

and as suddenly as it began
the night though long
seems too short

the moon tired but still smiling
trades places with the sun

and the clouds stretch out
to cover the long horizon

and winter marches
with the leafless trees
up and down the hillside

waiting with the trees
for their leaves to bloom
and her time to pass
and go again

remember the winter
you kissed my heart
and left your lips there
as if they had gotten stuck
to something cold

they stayed there through the spring
and we watched something warm bloom
something that felt like hope
and tasted like love
but we both knew it wasn't
we knew we were just easing the pain
of our existence  
offering soft comforts
between short pauses of misery

it was nice though
like a promise we meant to keep
like something sharp
dancing between our tongues
like a sweet truth hiding
somewhere in the soft middle
of the lie

maybe it could have been something
something more that is
something more than casual deceit
something more like warmth
and less like numb
maybe it could have been
as real as it felt
that is
if we had wanted to feel it

it wasn't bad though
not really
to remember what love could be
if we weren't always
getting our lips stuck
to something cold
if we weren't so attached
to the winters we keep
in every season of our hearts

we sometimes so desperately
cling to summer
that we a scarcely notice
the passing of autumn
what a shame it is to miss
the funeral dance
of the falling leaves
no longer green or gold
they clutter the ground
in the fading colors of rust

before we know
winter rides in on a chill breeze
wearing a mischievous smile
and what an odd thing
that we don't take warmth
in fresh fallen snow
fingertips growing numb
red cheeks
a runny nose
children giggling as only they can
so far away from the seasons
were their hearts will know
the weight of gravity
life will one day carry

what a waste we make of youth
too little do we realize
how wonderful it is
to know so little
yet believe in so much
magic hats
skating snowmen
quite mice
flying sleighs
saints of kringle
back when winter lit our hearts
with cozy fires
roasted marshmallows
sips of too hot hot coco

so long ago before we wasted winter
on wishes for days of spring
back when we knew so little
yet believed in so much
before we knew
how to be desperate
how to cling
to wasteful thoughts
wasteful things

back before we lost
the wonder of believing
the joy of simple things
and how to take comfort
in the warmth of winter

what a beautiful thing life is
that we can find moments
of joy in our tears

that we can become so happy
that we find we are unable
to do anything but weep

that we can find love
in both comedy and tragedy
in the simplicity of smiling
in the complexity of grieving
small gestures of gratitude
little acts of kindness

how lucky are we that we can find
our hearts with an over abundance of love
that love can overflow faster
than our hearts can beat
and our hearts can beat faster
than a falling star
desperate to find a last wish
faster than a hunger cheetah
and the gazelle trying to outrun death

how lucky am I to be here
to still be here
when there have been moments
when I had carelessly wished that I wasn’t
how many pennies have I tossed away
on thoughts that weren’t worth
the cost of thinking

and somehow I am still here
against the odds of my own self doubt
against the bets of my own loathing

how many times have I felt
that the days were too cold
the nights too long
how many winters
have I invited to stay
to keep the possibility of spring
from blooming in my heart

how poorly have I managed
both the gears and wisdom of the clock
what a grand illusion we make of time
to paste numbers on its face
to give it hands that cannot hold
what it can only watch slip away

to give measurement to something
that has no end
had no beginning
as if to mock infinity
to entrap eternity
to something so small
we could wear it on our wrists

much time is wasted
and I know this to be true
for a have wasted more
than my fair share

and yet
I am still here
and lucky to be so
what a strange and wonderful gift
to feel the autumn of death
slowly creeping through my bones
to be granted access
beyond the curtain and illusion of time
to see the magician
though a thief and a liar
is the same a fool as any can be
as many are

tomorrow is the same as today
and yesterday is still here
time cannot be tensed
by past or future stress
it can only be here
here for this one brief moment
this one short glorious pause of eternity
this long yawn slowly interrupting infinity
stuck somewhere between
the laughter of children
and the last breath of the dying

and how lucky am I
to be here
to still be here in a life
where I find moments of joy
in tears I am only
too happy to weep

How dead to we have to become
before we start to feel alive

how much flesh do we have to shed
before we believe that we look beautiful
is it until there is nothing left but our bones

how much death must we ingest
before we chase away
our gut feeling of ugliness

how high a price are we willing to pay
to appease our need to look our best

what can we hope to gain
by losing all we have
to satisfy the narcissism
of our egos eye

is the high price of beauty
worth being dead inside

short skirts and **** me heels
bones laced in lingerie
dying in a web of lies
hoping to be as pretty
as a picture in a magazine

what pills will we swallow
what will we burn
to **** that burning doubt
that we don’t look good enough

what are we chasing
what is this dream
this endless pursuit
of outward loveliness

is it some misconception
some illusion made of deceit
to believe beauty is something
we can see with our failing sight

is their glamour in the death of our hearts
is it a noble lamb for the butchers knife
skinned alive so we may dance in elegance

handsome boys
alluring girls
fifty ways to hide our monstrous skin
so full of human flaws

devilish grins
mischievous smiles
*** sells and death the highest bidder
on our wasted life
of self obsession

click click
snap snap
what filter can hide
how grotesque our ambition has become
to post our perfect self from our phones

is becoming dead gorgeous
worth the sacrifice of everything
that lives inside of us

do you ever think that
maybe the sun gets tired
that maybe she just needs
one night to herself
just one night to sleep
one day off to let
her fiery hair down
to find an ocean
big enough to swim through
a river wide enough
to float down

do you think she minds
that we write so many
poems to the moon
that we marvel
in awe and wonder
mesmerized by the moons light
forgetting even at night
its her light
lighting our way

do you ever wonder
what it must be like
to always be rising
to always be out
to always be hanging
somewhere in the sky
to always feel the fires burning

to never know the joy
of a cool breeze
to never find shelter from the heat
in the shade of a great oak tree
to never have your hands
go numb from playing in the snow

what must it be like to be the sun
do you ever stop to think
how tired she must be
to always be burning
burning so bright
all that light
all that warmth
keeping this earth alive

do you think she minds
all the poems we write to the moon
that we stay up so late
sleep in so often
and treat doing so as a luxury
that we relish the time
she is absent from the sky
do you think she minds

love...

write me a poem about love
and I will find the words
of the truth
for what is love
in its definition
its meaning
its weight
its volume
its giving
its losing
its finding
its breaking
its birth
its glory
its death

its flames rising from the ashes
its blood forever beating in our hearts
Its rhythm always dancing in our blood
its soul living in our bones

for what is love
if not the fate of
and ghost of
our footsteps
the past running
through the present
the present holding dearly
to the past
the memory of
the then and the now
all the joy we find
all the pain we endure

the blessing we taste
on our tongue
as we whisper
the last word of a prayer
the sin that clings to our lips
as we linger
in the sweet mouth of lust
the fire blazing beneath our flesh
as sweat soaks
the sheets of our beds

what is love but the longing
the searching
the journey
the sea
the sand
the waves
the mist
the shore
the map
the spot
the mark
the x
the chest
and the treasure singing within

what is love
but the absolute
the everything
the everything
we will find in the truth
as you write me
a poem about love