Winter's amber fire
the ashen woods we burned
wet smoulder of mire
the water and the fire.
Dark ancestral home
nights moon shivering cold
stars fixed or falling
beyond the skies fiery yields
only dying embers
lost in oblivion's field.

Lonesome
this dying fire
the darkening sky
now barely a glint of sun
a dismal line of light
it swiftly fades into the night
starless black water
this mirror pool
reflections of
you and I.

I am surrounded by night, windless
hot as fever, even more troubled
the places I've called home, abandoned
along with everyone, days in a desert alone
I speak to no one, only the sky
the night moon, my mother
whispers in metaphor
something brilliant
I tremble, quiver
in time with
the stars.

Never call me, on nights fierce with storm
blowing wild with lightening, thunder
no never, and though fretful, I tremble
through raging rains
I go alone

Please don't come over
leaving little notes, so clever
hot and cold, was our weather
farewell my lover
alas it is finally over

I tried water
wading, floating, drowning
the pooling and spilling of years
immersed myself holy
deeply to find the fear
dark in the deep end
the coming home to soul
the pain of it all
unknowingly I'd slept
heart wrecked
frozen in fear
unwilling to look
until there was
no other choice
until one day discovering
hidden truths beyond
my darkest void.

Cerulean blue, the mad rippling
how I crave water, sometimes even green
in spring the melting of me
smooth ****** skipping
blue pools swimming
to feel an ocean inside
the storm clouds collide
unhinged from fire's dream
a torrent, a waterfall
of holy water
evaporating into
steam.

a dragonfly
partners with the afternoon wind,
dancing their joy of life
to the reassuring beat
of eternal seconds.
an interrupted glance later,
it has slipped away
to somewhere beyond view,
leaving only the emptiness of air
and emotion.

Storm clouds
of black thunder
electrical magnetic powered
sparks lashing loose wired
consumed by lightning fire
a wild red blazing blue
hot smouldering coals of you
the final burning through
a certain kind of death
grey the ashes
of our truth.

Dear Miss Melancholy,
I write constantly of how you affect me
you're like a guest
who overstays their welcome
in my head
and in my heart.
You seem to keep me all together
yet you constantly tear me apart.
And sometimes I think
that I will miss your constant presence,
but then I remember,
I will not miss Miss Melancholy
because she enjoys my sadness
and loves making me bleed
for reasons that are not clear to me.

When I travel far from crowds
find myself grey, in the raining clouds
I run far into the cedar woods
of green and mossy loam
with birds, I fly from storms
deep in a world
sweet with maidenhair ferns
soft the moss, to touch
as newborn rabbit's fur
many the hour
under sparkling trees
of yellow maples glistening
the chirping words, of smallest birds
that I can never see
echo sweet, I dream and sleep
sink into perfect peace
beneath the rainforest canopy

Gathering colors of day
sea of green viridian, washing storms of grey
seagulls cry in shades colored blue
how mad the ocean's raving tune
it sweeps away the end of day
to paint the sky of blackness
a pale moon fades
beyond the sway
of silvery shades
night shimmers its way
into red and blue
where fiery clouds ignite
the day once more anew.