A bitter cold
in rays of light
A glossy ground
Day and night
A patch of green
In fields of snow
A little bird chirp
That stupid ***
A frozen day
Not is it spring
And a bird to chirp
You stupid thing

Scars beaten in-
to earth, forged by
waters wrath. Rocks
now carved by waves
under stormy
hands. Rigid stone
holds ground against
the savage sea.
Relentless it
tries to shatter
rock, but stone will
seldom yield to
water. Only
when break after
break does it crack,
slipping below
surface, plunging
with its full weight,
shifting violent
waters back from
where they wish to
be. Now leaving
a scar beaten
into the earth.

The world is quiet, up here by the sky.
The wind lingers, filling my nostrils with the smell of the mountain.
The clouds wrap around me, caging me in a thick white box.
The cold misty air brushes over my bare skin
   sending shivers through me.

The trees wave me to come closer
and shade me from the whipping air.
               But I don’t go.
The sudden gusts lift me off my feet
and sway me
back and forth
like a feather in the breeze.
The grass dances, brushing against itself,
humming,

singing.

The stream slithers through the soft rocks
crumpling as it brushes the earth. The rain starts to play
as it runs through the field.
Then the dark falls on the mountain,
and the moon blazes in the night,
lighting up the stars
and the world is quiet,
   up here by the sky.

To want a memory that can’t be remembered, can’t be remade, thats the memory
she wanted. To live in that moment with that family of hers. The one in the picture
tucked in her book. She too wanted to be stuck in that grainy old photo,
between mom and dad and in front of her brother. She wished she was there, right there
in that moment. Captured in that photo now scuffed on the edge. To stand in the place
where she wanted to be. She too wanted to smile with a toothy grin, to hold onto the hand
of her mother. She will never remember a moment with them, as she will never
have a memory of them. She has a photo of her family missing her face.
A picture of a life of what to her could be strangers. No one to know
she did have a home. None to think she was wanted. Only to question
how she wound up alone wandering around with a book. She won’t be remembered,
won’t be remade, and now thats the memory she wanted.

The halls are always far too silent
never loud enough to shadow the whispers
of those hisses that lash from her keepers tongues.
Always too clearly can she hear the smothered scorns
that whip out from lips of lustful dream
misled by promises holding only truth in lies
The mouths of these watchfuls only coated with
desire of a sweeter kind of life.

Scuffle through halls
feet limp across the earth
Every room locked from the insid
a medal **** clicks all but a warning before
the room full of what is never known
would swallow these halls
that are aimlessly wandered.
The only wall left to guard the secrets
would be swamped with the hidden
of what might be best locked away.
Yet when that day surfaces
that the rooms fill and the things on the inside
ooze through the creases of the doors
when the halls of this house are no longer empty
and the rooms once filled consume this home.

*What will be left in her mind?

Its weird to hear your name
coming from lips you seem to know
no more.
How strange it feels to look at eyes
you thought to miss
yet here
I seem to not recall the warmth
that once was there.
This face now here is new to me.
The old one gone astray.
Its time to turn from thought
to leave with tears inside.
Today
you walk away.

Words wither in the air
  as silence slithers between us.
The waves wash over where we sat
  as rigid rocks cut water raw.
A seagulls silhouette splayed across the sky
  carries a creature so soon to be crushed.
A hermit hiding in his home
  pops up out of his puddle,
fleeing back when a feather flutters down  
  nearly nicking his new shell.
The day grows dark and dim
  as rain runs down the rustling leaves.
Light house lights litter the night
  showing sheltered shadows.
A bush bows to the blustering breeze,
  as the smell of the salty sea settles.
While choppy waters churn violently
  when wind whips around us.
Droplets tip toeing across the tide
  visibly vibrant than vanishing.
The boats buckle under the beatings
  as docks drown diving under desolate waters.
We walk away wincing,    
  at the last glance at the grey grizzly night.