Your fingers formed the words I sought,
Yet it seemed as though the tongue forgot
A coward's shield, of silver and glass
Protecting long after battle's pass
How may glory relinquish pain-
If victory's honor should wax and wane?

Like winter's sun, your affection is fleeting
And stretched by time, hearts slow their beating
This tale told - more often by some
The ones who call for love to come,
But just as threshold meets its cross
Their cries fall silent, for feared loss

Shades of azure blue
Fill the sky with beauty sweet
While snow falls from clouds.

~Marian~

I remember being little.
Innocence.
When I was gentle with my words
And with the things my hand would hold
The way my cheeks would rose up from the cold.
Little fingers.
Little feet.
Sweet smiles snuck a treat.
Laughter and play.
Feeling safe in every way.
Seeing only the best in everybody.
Trusting everyone who came by.
Being held and needing a cuddle.
Splashing in a rain puddle.
Hearing, everything will be alright.
Bob Marley's motto tucked me in at night.
Being a princess is an actual occupation.
Thinking your parents aren’t scared of anything.
Believing in things that cannot be believed.
Having an imagination completely unperceived.
Finger painting.
Dancing.
Footy PJ's
Encouragement.
Laughter
Through all of my days.
Always feeling loved.
Never any doubts.
Bedtime stories.
Button noses.
I scream for ice cream shouts.
Soft whispers.
Tender touches.
Quiet kisses.
These are the things an adult misses.

I have never met love
but I have seen it from across the room
it's just that I was unable to extend my arm
long enough to shake its hand
instead I daydream about you raising your voice
because the indifference is so cold
and I need some anger to keep me warm
when I forget my mittens and my confidence in California

Appalachian Alchemists
Weaving Gold from farmer's grist
Whiskey Stills
and Copper Pills
Magick Wyrm cools vapor mists

Shine down from a Whiskey Moon
Silver Gift and Nature's Boon
Corn Cob Wands
and Thumper Pots
Mountain Spells from Summers' June

Lightning flash in jar of White
Burning Soul, distilled delight
Mountain Streams
yield Moonshine Beams
Corn-fed Wizards, dark of night

Wisdom cast in Silver hues
Blessing born of Mountain Dews
Love's Desire
from Smoke and Fire
Ancient kin-folk's hidden brews

Inspiration Distillate
Poet's Draught, inebriate
Charcoal Casks
and Secret Flasks
Of this Spirit, Celebrate

Nine months
since My
Last
Drink.

Nine months.

That is
Significant
in an obvious way.

Nine months,
Today.

Nine months since
I last sipped
purposeful poison.
Nine months since
I last heard
the beautiful
tink-tink-tink
of ice
swirling around
into amber
glass
wall.
Nine months since
I last melted
away
into caramel-
and smoke-
flavored
oblivion.
Nine months since
I last felt
the burning hole
in my gut
weep red and raw
and wail for more
More
MORE.

Nine months since.

Nine months today.

Does that make me a new man?
Am I a New Man yet?
Am I re-born?

The bags
under my eyes
are gone
but it's still Me
I see
looking back
from that glass.

It's still Me.
I'm the Same Man.
I just found
some New Pleasures.
And New Problems
to go with them.

Happy Birthday,
Little Man.

Days feel longer still and the nights seem old,
My hand it touches glass that bars my way,
I sit and see the winter winds blow cold,
Dreaming now of a closer coming day.
Hands soft with need and want will lift the gloom,
The world is gone we're buried in this den,
I'll see your smile sing back into this room,
Nights young with lips and laughter once again.
My heart it beats so sweetly for your own,
To kiss me now would make me weaker still,
A weakness that forever I'll condone,
Those lips that flame my passion, aim to thrill.
'I love you so,' my thoughts forever sigh,
You are the star, my life an endless sky.