You remind me of the earth,
   like deep burnt umber woodlands
mid downpours' fresh aroma
       & spring's foliage lushly reborn,
twinkling explosive pinpoints
       grazing beyond dark ether,
  sparkles dappling 'pon depths
        of eternal seascapes's nature,
amidst breath of relentless airy winds
    gusting above her majesty's hazes
       beyond purple mountain's apex
and streams of meadows' wildflowers in
  deftly painted horizons after moonbows,
vivid consciousness' uttermost reminisce
   of all things recollected in the long ago
        essence of your memories' presence

Breathe.
Breathe deep,
and in between
those breaths
bring back
banished beliefs
buried beneath
beyond
broken bonds
and
burnt bliss.

Embers.
Embers everywhere
of emotions
expecting
Elysium’s
elusive embrace.

Roses.
Roses scattering
restlessly;
rarely receiving
reprieve;
reminiscing;
ruing
reproachful ravens
resting
rigidly;
rabidly reaping,
rending
rotten remains,
resenting rainfall
refusing remorse.

Nostalgia.
Nostalgia underneath
neon nightlights;
noticing
nubs,
noises,
nuances;
neither neglecting
nameless
nonbelievers,
nor nurturing
narrow-sighted
naiveté.

Asleep.
Asleep amidst
fleeting azaleas
acknowledging
an abandon
amplifying
already
almighty
affection;
almost
altering
an­cient,
ardent,
adamant
air
as an
ageless art.

Loss.
Loss overpowering;
lost love,
lingering longing,
lasting laments.
Lachrymose lovers
left layers
of a
limited life
within
long-forgotten lore;
lest labeled
Loveless;
left
little
longer
living.

Yearning.
Yearning for
the warmth
of home.
Yesterday,
You
were
yelling
‘YES’
at the top
of your lungs,
and
it
was
enough.
Yet
Yggdrasil
yielded
yew
for years
and years;
young,
yellow yeggs
yanked asunder
Yin
from Yang
into the
ever yonder.

Night-time.
Night-time symphonies
nullify
nothingness;
nourishing
Nyx Nightmother’s
need
of newfound
night-thinkers;
napping
nonchalantly
now,
near,
and nevermore.

~**D.C.

I’m not sure where to go,
but I sure do have a lot to do.
If only my voice didn’t crack whenever I sang.
If only my fingers were steady when I hold a guitar.
If only my feet were coordinated as I start to drum.
If only my ears never missed a cue during a performance.
If only my hands wouldn’t stop as I wrote a song.
There’s so much I want to do,
and I’m just a normal dreamer like everyone else.
It takes both heart and mind to make good music.
You have to sing from your heart,
and you have to keep who’s listening in mind.

~*D.C.

His consciousness moved,
his body did not.
He was bound
to the ground.
A fallen angel
stood amidst
the tempestuous
flames,
yet he did not burn.
The younger brother
was unstable,
malleable;
he must be put
to the test.
Thus,
the angel
fashioned
a blade
of immense strength
that wielded
the powers
of his hell,
upon its hilt
inscribed
-in seraphic
tongue-
Convicta.
Use it
he said.
Use it as
a vessel
of your
hate.
At once,
His soul
clung to
the demonic
weapon,
his body
was left behind.
You cannot leave,
the angel said,
unless he is
brought
to this side.
And Abel knew
what must be done,
and began the
journey out
of the inferno.

~*D.C.