Im a broken soul
Laughing and twirling
Under the stars
Of the bleeding Heavens

With an old secret
I sank into her endless eyes
Pondering over laws
That effected such marvel
And leased me to madness
Words were melting in my mouth
She, refraining her turn of phrase
A tear rolled down my cheek
Stirring passion's tongue
A tear rolled down hers
Wielding my soul ablaze
I rejoiced in silence
Lest i betray my confidence
She handled my eyes
Spotting my inference
I could no longer bear
The fruits of my fear
I leaned over and touched
Her sculptured nails tenderly
Freeing my emotion
She smiled coyly
Sealing my devotion.

I'm desperately searching
For an ounce of permanence
In a world in which
Everything fades to nothingness

There is a
screaming
screeching pain
that is so raw.
It's like a
mouse caught in
a glue trap.
It must be locked
away for no one
to see or handle.

And sometimes
on moonless nights
when no one is
around, and the
owls have killed
their prey, and the
teardrops have been
bottled and sold on
the black market,
you may be tempted
to take that pain out,
like a slice of pie,
and taste it.
Be careful.
It may have
fermented and
developed a mind of
its own.

We are Slowly Dying
(A response to Thanatopsis)

We are slowly dying
Myself, and these old pines
A little here, a little there
Almost imperceptibly
Death on her cat’s feet comes

I sit with these old friends,
longing their lost limbs
some already fallen
some just now losing needles
like me, my hair

We sit quietly,
Neither saying much
Neither needing to
All has been said and done
Or need never be

Soon it will be time
Signs are certain now
All point in one direction
We, transition forests
Bow to new emperors

We’ve no need to complain
Of bugs eating their bark
Or bugs eating me
It would do no good
So we sit silently

How to end this tale
Now that it's been told?
Perhaps a sweet rhymed couplet?
Or some old musty moral?

The sunset goes down with us.
No meaning does it give us.

Some people can wait
     Before they die;
Hold on for a loved one
     To say Good-bye.
To have one more Spring,
     Or any Season,
For Love or Closure,
     This we reason.
Now many can leave
     This coil of doubt,
Guilty they heard,
     On all thrity-four counts.