Beautiful, balance,
basically made
from necessity

A planet of fire,
stabilizing a chaos of gas and dust- amazingly,
fashioned creation

A home
to beings purposed to survive,
from lowest crustacean,
to enigmatic leaders of beasts
and nations

We were reapers in a past life
I was the cape and you were the scythe
We pulled the wool over their eyes
And made their dreams death in disguise

Wrapped up lilies reaching for shade,
a familiar tragedy,
even they cannot bear the sun's gaze

Wretched.
Reaching for the wool and the knife
In the heaven-less night

Where the shades of confessions danced,
we walked
But, I was not there to get them to talk
The Reverend and the pew
Never did what they were meant to

Tangled lilies reluctantly reaching for shade
Ashamed to accept the slight--decaying hope
and disparate daydreams
Reaching for the cape and the scythe
For the heaven-less sight

Here lies a city
Of flowers-the lilies
In the dark its clarity profoundly makes
A sunlit city dreary

And, we were reapers in our last life
I, your loveless lover,
you with another spouse
Drove me into despair, dragging
the night-sky into our love
made-up of lies

So, we perfunctorily made death
a heaven-less guise
Death, made out of dreams and lies

Be careful, of love's cape and scythe,
If you're to keep your life.

*Sui Caedere translated from Latin, "of oneself ****"
" Suicide in a Sunlit City."

if i could do no wrong, nothing would ever get done. 
i wouldn't see the fake in me, 
driving a stake through me, 
wrecked or coming undone.

if i were a happier soul,
nothing but light would be shown. 
i couldn't be, wouldn't be- dark eating, dark to my bones, 
crowded yet so all alone.

but, if I were less noisy, and see a little 
less woe in me, 
if were holy, 
who would revere me? 
no. not one of those.
they only enjoy crackling souls.

if I could be left alone, then nothing would ever be wrong. 
i wouldn't see faults in me 
through others' eyes waiting, listing
and mocking the made up things i'd done.

if i couldn't be mistaken, 
no sea of the doubt in their eyes.
just floating not drenched a false image- shadowed nothing at all.
turned around facing the wall.

Fragile body, hurt
aching
as as wrinkles run down her face
"What was the point anyway?"

Should you look at her
she'd become tired
bitter
at the chance you'd turn
she'd walk away 

A tear in her blouse 
with a long-time dusted and withered 
spouse
A black cat, laying dead

The wicked thing had fled
No matter 
He was gone 
before he left her home

His mind was decaying
All his memories fading
Bitter
He'd lay in his own litter
Then ******
He'd trot away
Fading

[Time tiptoed...
glance- at heavy rain
see a wind blown girl
brown long curls
white long pearls
dainty dresses draping]

Her companion buried
age's blinding eyes staring
What was the point?

The dead and old should know
This the way you go

What was the point anyway?
To age is a disgrace?
She said
"No matter"
And flew away

5/8/12 (The Sun and the Moon compilation)

did he think it would be easy 
to pick her up off her feet?

she is spiteful, lazy, and weak
she is unfaithfully trying-- 
half asleep

but he comforts her repeating- 
"you'll feel better, go outside, in the sun," he quickly says 
staring at her 

she swears it won't shine--despite the weather
whether she is too heavy in the suns rays 
or carrying her self-hate, hiding from 
the sun's gaze,

he arrives home to watch her break 
and he gazes through the mess she makes

he is heavy
holding her close
he is tired giving her a dose

in her daze--
"i'm ok, i don't need it" she boasts
it's these kinds of day's he hates the most

when he wakes, he's thinking 
"work will be long," as he's dressing

as he glances over her
at the clock
he's thinking that he's running late 

as he glances over at her
"yes, i'm sure she's recovering" 
even if he recalls her cycle of words, the night before 

the quotes of happiness
[grief, sickness, death, the end"] 
then beams of happiness
...she keeps changing

but "it will...be easy," he is thinking, 
as he steps quietly away, while yawning.

This is enough.           1
The water, a dark, cold river,    
will hold me underneath it.     3

I've boastful thoughts, "I'll be delivered,"
while floating down.              5

I'm a worn raft, broken off of a boat.      
You cannot hold unto me.             7

My wrenched, sadness, could pull
everyone; anyone, from above,                   9
into the cold.

No, I'll think nothing above the blinding surface.   11

Waves come from below the surface.
But, they seem swallow the sickness,      13
and cure me, free me, "finally."

But, can the sea hold my melancholy?      15
The waves roll, fast away, driving pain away
There is no deliverance, from the land, for this man.            17

Please, push me under, so that this is enough.   18

Now, I'm a fish.
In the blue world.          20

"I mean, I can breath!"         
Beneath the red, scorching land.   22

But, with a broken fin, 
and a heavy body,               24
It seems I cannot hold me, my fury

And, I was once a man, hurting, and tired.   
But, I was once whole, soaking up the sun.       27
I stood upright, but I began
to die in the heat.                 29

That is why this is enough.        30
A wave, a fish, a man in a dark river.
I'll show you what I'd be:  
drowned and wretched,

a raft,                  34
that pulled me under,
a wave
that made me flounder,    37
and now, a man 
beneath the surface.     38

The ocean. It's flow will hold me, 
this dark inside me...
"This is enough."           42

I will sink don't try 
to raise me.             45
Don't send something, 
like a burning rope out    47
to save me.          

The cold sea current is what becomes of me.
Sinking down to get away,        49
a fish is meant to die this way.

Don't hold me, in the heated hell      51
of the sun.                         

Don't hunt or raise a drowned man.  53

Don't burn a pyre, or bury me in the sand.  
I'm delivered from sitting in the,          55
braising day, hurting in the sun.

The water in this vast blue ocean, that is enough.  57