A candlelit rage
Dances in Shadow and Light
Flickering our flame.

I am better with words
When they are in my head
As if the palette in my mind is clearer
For in your presence, I
More often than not, fumble
Finding the right colors of expression
Almost like how my inane paintbrush
Behaves on its familiar canvas
Dabbing colors at places where
They are not required or whimsically
Or adding streaks of hues to a
Flawlessly flawed hue
Hoping for articulation and
In the process my paintbrush and I
Ravage the art that had the
Potential of creating magic
So I leave it to you, if you may
To embrace me and
My myriad of unspoken words
Because the words
which are the most magical
are often the ones
Which are left unsaid.

O child, shiver and shake the dust from your wings, fly again!
Lo, the harsh caress of unrest beckons you to ignore the pain.
Look down upon us as we fall victim to the ebb, paralyzed and doomed in the spider's web.

O child, shiver and shake your fingers toward the scarred sky in praise.
Your vengeful gods bestow upon us no kind mercy or embrace!
Shards of glass rake soft flesh as we crawl to the gutter,
Did we ever deserve mercy from your Dark Mother?

O child, shiver and shake so you may flee the atrocities!
Flee the terrified cries and the eyes of the dead!
Death never dwelled beneath your bed, He is here!
Look down upon us as we shiver and shake with fear!

We stare at static-plagued screens and scream--

"Shiver and shake, the sky shall break!"

Off-color, dun, waste in the tepid air
Keepers and thieves, we are,
With shovels and keys
Grace my grave not, love, I am not there
I know, I know you’re scared
Bile may rise and boil your tears-
Children are better at hiding and seeking,
We, we wretched few-
Follow the notes once sung through our blood
Dusty music-box time capsules
Back to when we couldn’t lose
Unloaded hand in hand, building bridges over
Quicker sands than grains in glass
You took my fingertips, we carved our names into the bark
with the needle-points of ribs

You, you told me we’d go together

I’m sorry it isn’t true
“Here lies, my lullaby”- the skitter of the leaves’ whisper
What did they whisper in your ear?
Of stars and galaxies?

Of a rotten fantasy

Ah, ‘twas the one, of our flat. Off-color, dun,
Baited wasted breath in the tepid air-
Was it of keepers of keys?

No, shovels-

-And thieves?

And thinking I was too young
To love you.

If I could

I would write you a poem that speaks of midnight

And fill my pen with inky darkness and the bright cold light of stars

If I could

I would sing of the rolling moving sea that is never stilled

Cool grey and aquamarine would fill my palette as I brush the words

If I could

I would bring you lush hills and deep shady valleys in between

Pine green and Ochre are the threads in my rhyming tapestry

If I could

I would speak of dawns and sunsets bathed in infinite beauty

Hot pink and vivid tangerine silks gathered into a cloth of sound

If I could

I would write you a living landscape of colour to keep you warm on winter days

If only I could...