Morning has broken
but she has not
it had been a long night
sinister fraught
the stars were cut
in lacerations of lace
          stains of tears
                      mark trails
                   on her face
mascara in circles
mocking panda eyes
multiple moments
of almost self-demise
wrists bound to
          sadness, heart
trussed to trust
pain from crumbling
illusions, plus
that constant,
          searing lust
Now, on the floor,
lying face down
in what seemed
              like blood,
she starts to
                 move around,
as realization pours over
in a thick, viscous flood:
She can move her arms;
for they were not
                really bound
That gag in her mouth?
it has dissolved into sound
The sound of her voice
as she gets up
        from the floor
opens the window
bringing light
            to the fore
guttural noises
escape deep
                 from her throat
and before she
knows it, the
room starts to float
furniture circling
as the energy takes
        and she lets in the air
             fresh as new fate
her cuts balmed over
         winds whipping up her hair
marks from taut ropes
smoothing over to bare
and the light bursts in
          in a blast, in a whoosh
like bursts of starlight
cutting in with a push
they seep into shadows
pulsing over the dark
the howling rescinds
          in an explosion of sparks
blocks of pain that held
her chained
are knocked over
and the lightstorm
                keeps coming
her inner percussion
just doesn't stop drumming
      And as she flies through that window
and unhinges the door
            from its frame
freedom
            is now hers
            forever to claim

Words do glint in tearful repose
when natural shocks interpose
days weigh heavy as friends show old
and season's winter songs flow cold

These tally chime as death stalks near
long grow visits between grand years
with wrinkled hands and white hair fears
this walking slows, these eyes less clear

Into this night Jack's wind does howl
while inside hearth a live fire growls
and keeps at bay its teeth of frost
thoughts, of endings begin to gnaw

Now sheds this coil that binds its role
and splits heart's wood of nature's whole
console those living, pay this toll
journey's venture awaits its stroll

-cec

The evening sipped
Its golden bright,
as the sun spilled
it's yellow stomach
spoke in streams
of babbled havoc.
Slinging a silvery palm
along the slender hip
of wanton youth in
wishful grip.

O' to be young,
to be young
without the cares
of the infirm full,
of knar's and knot
like the desires of an
old oak tree.

To touch,
the velvet rose light
of the beauty
in her skin,
lovingly caressed
of wistful eye
and
age of bristle.

from the void
the mountain speaks
the beat goes on
in these desolate peaks

moss covered stacks
of sea floor and mantle
embrace and fold
in metamorphic tangle

stunted fir clings
graying roots exposed
a rocky, barren life
is all this sapling knows

snowcapped elderberry
scale the crevice
where bear and wind
make raucous passage

avalanche chutes
gracefully recline
in verdant shades
to the waterline

lie in the meadow
to calm the chatter
make still the noise
to blunt the clatter

upon the coming
of soft night
undress this silence
angel mine



*I came to a point where I needed solitude and just stop the machine of 'thinking' and 'enjoying' what they call 'living,' I just wanted to lie in the grass and look at the clouds.

-Jack Kerouac

A silver feather
It floats through sensual air
The songs of kissing