The choir girls on rooftops sing
songs of thanksgiving in
harmonious gleam
while the children dance
in vibrant gyrations
underneath the olive trees.

A fire burns while people cheer and chant,
and folk songs flutter like ash.
The sparks fly as burnt wood collapses
and the king takes his throne.

He addresses his court
with eager voice
that echoes across the fields
and all eyes and ears are keenly fixed
on his majesty.

He speaks:
"My people, my friends,
my enemies, my lovers -
from all lands far and wide -
will you open your eyes
and see your live like this?

There is no bloodshed or death
and I can see your lungs expand with each breath.

Now, please fill your cups
with the strongest of wines
and let music ring
with the loudest of chiming.
Let peace fill your souls
and love cloud your minds.

Lay down your swords,
pax et concordia
for love is the strongest of wards."

When rain falls
it arrives like
an army charging down a hillside,
beating their fist against their shields.
Or it arrives like
tears from a father's eyes
as he opens his arms and says
"Welcome home, son."

When rain falls
it is greeted by
open umbrellas and rubber boots.
Or it is greeted by
children with eyes closed
and faces toward the skies
as drops fall on their tongues.

When rain falls
it is caught by
rooftops, gutters, and windshields.
Or it is caught by
the eyelashes of two lovers
saying hello again
after ages of goodbyes.

When rain falls
it lands on
tree leaves
who carry it to their roots.
Or it lands on
cracks in the sidewalk
and encourages new life to burst forth.

When rain falls
it sounds like
the rushing rivers
and the tides breaking on the shorelines.
Or it sounds like a prayer gently whispered
to ears patiently listening.

When rain falls
its promises are protected
by the guard of a rainbow.

When rain falls
its promises are protected
by the guard of a rainbow.

The weathervanes
swirl snow into shimmering spirals.
The trees,
in slow rebirth,
retrogress to barren skeletons.
The cold leeches the green
from the emergent grass.

I perch atop wire farm fences
to rest my wings, to mend broken feathers;
the wind moves silence amidst the cold,
for my voice is void of song.

I see a flock flutter in the sky,
their call beckoning my flight to be one with theirs;
our voices to be one as we sing
songs of hopeful blessing
amidst nature's dissonance,
and chimes will resound from porches
and deer will drink from running waters
as if nothing has moved backward at all.

I will have a new song to sing,
as clouds break, revealing the splendor
of divine daylight.

Tendrils of regret snake up from the shadows,
I thought I had gotten away this time,
though it would appear I was mistaken;
As I usually am.
Ghosts of memories slip through my eyes,
blinding me to the present reality,
water of salt drips from my empty sockets,
as I fall into the nightmares of times long past.

The haze of dolor clouds my mind,
luring me back into feelings I thought were gone,
but of course, I was ever-so wrong;
As I usually am.
Demons smirk and scratch across my brain,
reminding me of their control,
for I was given an inch but took a mile,
unacceptable, I should have known.

Mania dances wildly across my sanity,
reminding me of what I never had,
though I thought I had regained it, I was incorrect;
As I usually am.
Friend-masked foes sing songs of betrayal,
piercing my ears so I can no longer hear the truth,
if I ever really heard it in the first place;
It is now that I'm senseless.