I remember the
Morning she
Said "goodbye"
Instead
Of "I love you."
?Looking around
The room
Clothes hung from the side
Of the laundry basket,
Books sat half-finished
On the bookshelf,
Her dresser drawer, empty now,
Was still open.

A chickadee was
Singing outside
And her now vacant spot
On my bed was
A valley of
Forgotten pillows.

The blankets twisted
Like a river
Through it,
She had taken months, to
Find the right patterns
For them.

I glanced to the windowsill
She used to keep her
Hair binders on. There were
Small rings of dust
Around their spot.

I still sleep on
The right side of
And that chickadee
Sings again, every morning.

But the pillows and blankets.
Have lost their form.

From the Sikhote Alin Mountain,
I gaze at my world coming to an end.
I feel the sharp spear
peirce my brother's heart.

Blood trickles from my sister's mouth and
I taste its unwanted metallic zest.
The strench of Amur Basin burning
fills my nostrils, telling me my time

is limited. I pace, awaiting my poachers,
killers stained with the last
essence of my family.
This destruction of my kind hurts my soul,

but I stand to fight in the name of Amur.
As my band of enemies approach,
I summon the inner spirit and my
roar blankets the mountain air.

I feel my ancestors with me and
charge with the force of a thousand
tigers to my certain death.
The final battle begins.

I could keep ignoring the facts.
Disregard, every red flag you
wave in front of my face.
Only to pretend things are alright
until I go off the edge.
But doesn't that seem obnoxious?
I'd rather be alone.

Through the darkest seed
Through the light split by blood and greed
They desire that which is forbidden
Yet persevere disregarding being forgiven
It's in disgust as infestations reap its greatness
Holding broken memories we soak in weakness
It's in these crown of thorns we rest in what we believe
Yet voiced with transparent lungs we grieve
We try to fight the silence but no one is listening
Screaming our emotions translates to whispering
As we bury their hope in the ground gasping their final last breath
We except their fate
Their destiny
Their death.
Even after death we feel their words resonate
As they breach the great white gate.
They are never forgotten, they are always loved
Looking down on us from above

-Joseph B Schneider

a speck on a train of evergrowing thought,
i simply exist in your periphery
deploring each opportunity unsought
trying to wash myself clean of your mem’ry

you are certainly a skilled navigator
you make your way into every part of me
the earth was a kaleidoscope of colour
now it’s achromatic–you are all i see

my desires remain to me inchoate
whether aspiration or admiration
to be like you or be with you: the debate
either of which a mode of self-destruction

as to vertiginous heights i watch you soar
i realize it’s neither option at all
for my wings can never quite take flight like yours
lest you crumble under your great wings and fall