green is not a color
it is the reflection from through
which the world sees you

empty of everything except beauty
I hold you in esteem,
even blades of grass,
must dream.

DM 2017

In still frames and photographs,
I still see your eyes light up,
they're not faded like today.

I see you vibrant and laughing,
a sweet grin as you say my name,
"Stop sweetie, I don't look good."  You mumbled,
and I begged to differ,
felt my hands shiver,
You always looked good...

With your long hair in a bun,
that white sweater of mine-
was way too big,
the way it always wrapped you in the
scent of my cologne,
the safeness of home,
and the way you giggled
as I pretended you were a delicious truffle,
playfully as if I were a pig,
and lovingly nibbled your ear.

Back when "you" were still here.

And then you began to drift,
across an impasse,
a weight too heavy for me to lift.
and you spun your golden feathers,
across time and space,
drug induced and broken,
a shattered masterpiece,  
your life: a waste.

There are ghosts hiding behind my skin,
they come out at night,
and remind me of my sin,

there are red and blue cities within my heart,
they pulse and blur with light,
and remind me I am empty inside.

The ice queen dances on ice so thin,
she calls me out at night,
and waits for the ice to give in.

Sometimes I remain on the shore,
other times I dive right in.

-Dm 2017

When things are miserably bleak,
and our inner vision grows weak,

we lose site of the shore,
the things that ground us,
the stones that bound us before,

we let slip the broken bits,
the silent slips,
that only our hearts perceive,

and we leave.

we reach out from broken,
for something new,

we abandon rivers and roads,
the familiar things, we once knew.

And fly, like a finch- blue feathers,
yellow beak shrieking in elation,
as we lift
from the cage.

We lay aside old griefs and sorrows,
we lay aside malice and rage,
and slip the bars of sadness,
and embrace a joyful madness,

and in doing so restore the balance,
of a jaded world,
to explore it's continents,
oceans and sea depths,
for diamonds and pearls.
and in doing so,
we who are free,
touch - reality - the distance.
(c) DM 2017

Darling one, lock the window,
Darling one, lock the door.

The lives we tell ourselves,
are folded bits of paper mache,
multi colored lullabies,
Strange alien colors and grass at sunset.

The moment when our mothers call us home and the crickets sing when we hope we get the sleep before threadless darkness comes to terror and torment our innocent hearts,

with monsters who are not the kind that live in the far dark-but the kind that live in the desolate house 304.

Darling one, lock the window,
Darling one, lock the door.

It is then we learn to guard the lives we tell ourselves we will have,
and the lives we can afford.

Darling one, lock the window,
Darling one, lock the door.

(C) DM 2017

As quickly as it was,
the diamond shattered,
misunderstanding,
accidental and
simple mis-branding,
life paints me fragile,
and my song of songs
becomes a song for sorrow,
and poor standing.

Trying to understand why
my genuineness is always mistaken,
for slyness or demanding.

Say a prayer for the sparrows,
for the ones who fall and the Father sees,
say a prayer they return safely
at night, to their homes
in the trees.

-Dm 2017

Her hands are flowers,
eyes jewels of secret stone and fire,
treasure deep within fabled rooms,
her lips petals of forgotten tropical blooms,
her voice a soft wind blowing on the lyre,
her hips are strong and made for birthing dreams,
her darling kiss,
flowing beautiful waters,
a gentle stream,
a forgotten city where birds of paradise sing,
and if she calls you lover,
do not forsake her for others,
do you not see that you have been blessed,
to find sweet solace in her breast,
do not look away or chase another,
she will be your faithful darling,
if you love her,
she will always be your lover.
(c) dm 2017