i.


the stars do not shine
loneliness presses the air
into a tangle of last years withered
leaves,
loneliness in summer leaves
that whisper to a grey moon
a song of regret.


ii.


dreams of midnight,
cool rain,
songs more alive
than this low-roofed night.


iii.


teardrops like the ghostly moon, lost
against the heart that
flutters like a dark sky
breathing stars.
  

iv.


the mottled horizon
pools into greys,
tender eyed with
soft sadness,

in these dim hours when silence
cloaks the woods and
human laughter disappears

we sink against the softer sky
and the slow fade of moon and
long for dream, for everything
to reawaken and unwind.


v.


we are swimmers heading as far
out as we can get. surreal silver
stars, opening like flowers,
refusing to drown.

it stains the very inner of her being
crimson.
crimson with the guilt
and shame
and the unbearable weight
of loving without limits,
to the point of
a threadbare soul
worn with the
constant weight of giving.

I recently read a poem saying
Why can't the world be rid of emotions?
And I thought,
*Well, that would be boring.

i've been praying to god
even though i question  his existence
but i need something
      someone
to call upon
   sometimes
i had avoided him for a long time
refused to acknowledge
any truth in the
                actuality of a god

        and i am still skeptical

but there is a comfort
in feeling a bit spiritual

and it is nice knowing
that there may be someone
        something
that's watching out for me

even if it is myself.

i.


monet's passion written in
whispering tears.
the still lake smoulders
in ripples, all shadows and smoke.

a dragonfly presses the air
into whir, memories in my
pocket saddled to fire.


ii.


the air murmurs with death-shouts.

is this to sink, deep in a dungeon
of opulent blue

or to shimmer, iridescent
like a moon-lamp, empress
of ocean green and river blue
beyond the stilling light.


iii.


this is a bed of decadence
drowned moment of golden fire
in the sipped leaves that trumpet
to the clouds, that this is their day to
die.


iv.


water lily, white light of the pond
following the drowning dark,
flower of drifting quiet,
flower of dream.


v.


root treading past
the stillness of dusk,
utter existence,
daughter of the moon,
daughter of the silence.

it's true.
what they say.
suffering drives you to make laughter.