“Why don’t you come to me in my dreams anymore?

Come and find me in my dreams.

I want to talk to you.”

I,
No longer.
Feel the presence
Of
God

Heart lumped in my throat,
Our future uncertain, yet
I must forgive you.

Ghost of the sky,
Our shadowy stalker,
Pale and weary
From your lonely wander,
Heaven-high tethered,
Stoic and listless,
Illuminate the sleepy and
the sleepless.

I am a mountain,
Yearning to soar with birds of flight,
But I am twined with the earth,
Whilst animals ***** empires upon my back.
As a volcano lies dormant,
I, too, murmur gently,
Solemnly observing
My frustrated and polluted vigil.

The flesh is betrayed
By a phantom paranoia,
Taking waking hours far more than those
Rested beneath the ribcage of our gable.

Our vigil is held where infant temples
Are buried by frightened hands
That blinds child
From captive poltergeist

Lord, please, herd wandering mind,
Heavenly vision coax my attention and convince me,
That in my faith and spirit there is indeed a presence;
And that in our union we see not an apparition

Brown paper attire
Wraps around my elixir as I retire
From life’s determined saunter
Into the arms of good company

Our toothy grins stained by have-one-mores’
Don’t go yet, they implore
You’re not working tomorrow anyway

Who needs a glass when you have no class,
Only memories and contemplations
Shared straight from the mouth of the bottle
Into the hearts of good company

Spectral clouds scatter ghosts of patterns,
As an ink droplet into a puddle of stillness maddening,
Diffusing through its infant pond,
Reaching outward like her iris dilating,

Anticipations of rain upon pink cheeks.