The grey cold
lingers in the bitter air
and snow falls like ghosts
declaring here will be a sufficient place to haunt.

I wake up
A time to seek and an time to lose
not to the birds
a time to mourn and a time to dance
or the sun shining through the blinds,
a time to keep silent and a time to speak
but to banshee sobs
a time to weep and a time to laugh
and voices that were once intertwined.
a time to love and a time to hate

I stare
out the window
and onto the unrelenting days
of December Timing-
a time to keep and a time to cast away;
a time to tear and a time to sew.

For everything, there is this season.
For every matter under the sun, there is this time.

I want to stretch my broken wings
a time to die
and fly toward the hidden, hopeful
light of day that is masked behind
the gray cold.

*a time to be born

like a blue bird on the first day
she sits and stares at her prey

snow falls gently on the wet sand
the wind and the water hand in hand

she screams and scowls and gasps for air
with strands of long flaxen brown hair

floating in the waves she forgets naught
closer to shore are the memories she fought

then she remembers the times that she hated
and not too longer all was faded.

If these walls could talk,
you'd know my body is dead,
my mind has been taken over,
that's why I am so scared,
I can't control it,
anger is making me blind,
I've been left here on my own
chained to a hate of some kind.
If these walls could talk.

If these walls could talk,
you'd know about my fears,
about all those nights I screamed for help,
about all my fallen tears.
You'd know about the demons
haunting me at night,
you'd be able to help me
keep my fire alight,
if these walls could talk.

If these walls could talk
they would say that it's all right,
God sends His angels
to look over me at night.
They'd encourage me,
say though I am alone
it doesn't mean I?m on my own.
He watches me, from above
and showers me with all His love,
if only these walls could talk.

the apple tree sits
staring at me
watching my every move

her branches reach out to touch my flaxen hair
combing out the tangles with her withering limbs
her leaves form a braided wreath
with fragile pink blossoms embodying my innocence

her knots form a kind and gentle face
the corners of her mouth turning up to assure me of hope
her crevices are filled with love and life
my only friends. my only family.

"patience" she says
and so i wait. and so i watch
waiting the blessed day of forthcoming

"patience" she says
but I can't wait any longer
my crystal blue eyes are beginning to discolor and my hair is beginning to fall
time is running out

I break from her withered limbs
I break from her benevolent smile
I break from her hospitality and materialness that nursed me back to health
only to fall into a deep abyss of incompetence and insubordination

childish and juvenile acts that were not nursed by the fruit of eden.

I run back to her warm bark
begging for forgiveness
only to taste the now bitter apple.

sometimes you're left there
just thinking about it
about your life with it
about your life without it

tears stream down your face
you reach out, aiming for it
grasping that piece that has been
missing for so long

but it loosens your grip
it eases your fingers and tickles your palm
teasing you for falling for it
mocking your lack of reality

how could it be
that something once so close to the touch
is now so far away?
a distant and fading memory of change and hope

how could it be
that something so good, so sweet, so tender
could beguile you into thinking you actually had a chance.
a chance to be something new, something fresh, something beautiful.

alone i sit in peace
alone i sit in forgiveness
alone i sit in love
alone i sit in harmony

alone i sit in hatred
alone i sit in betrayal
alone i sit in confusion
alone i sit in denial

alone i sit in silence
alone i sit in sound
alone i sit in darkness
alone i sit in a crowd

alone i sit today
alone i sit right now
alone i sit forever
please get me out somehow