Sleeves of scars
and a garter of silver lines and burns
oh the hurt I've endured
Seated by the fire as a child
Lord knows I've had thoughts like this for a while
I'd dwell on the discretion I took
brooding over every hook that snagged my flesh
made a mess
of the little girl I never was
and they who shook me
pet me from the inside out
must have forgotten to what degree
their consumptive hands made me bleed
God how I wish they could see
every stain left with or without cause
was provoked by their nostalgic applause
but I don't even blame them
It was a conscious disease
perniciously eating
still chewing at me.

I always thought I knew lonely,
Like I knew her sinful curves and crushing caress.
But if there is something this year has taught me,
This year of new, and discovery, and sweet sadness,
It's that I never knew lonely.
She and I had merely danced together at a ball,
Or shared a joke at a bar.
Lonely and I were but aquintances,
Passing strangers in the street.

I know now that lonely is like an expectant lover.
She is omnipresent,
She is always there reminding you that they are out there,
While you are in here alone.
Lonely doesn't possess curves,
Nor do her gnarled hand caress,
She is ugly and suffocating,
She is ever-present,
Reminding you,
That they are still out there,
Without you.

Evergreen tree,
Burning red bushels
Of bark, branches open,
Cloud robed against, beyond
The mighty blue mountains,
Sage colour, rages of green,
Teems immortal as the sun,
Where great eagles landing
To nest in the towering
Chapel of a giant body
Adorn, what was always
Regal, everlasting, true,
Spiraling to the citadels
Of the swirling heavens
And even your crown,
A thrusting spire.

Oh, I'm a nightmare,
cold, naked, proud,
stripped of all lies
and delusions,
carved by definition,
not devotion;
darkened and devilish.

You won't see my healing,
you'll touch it,
you'll taste it,
you'll love it,
live for it,
sin after sin
after
sin.

Before the wings and spring of words,
Were cradle-held in a cloud of sleep,
Soft footfalls to hear ourselves turning
And ever new dreams were lofty keys,

We could not see the frost branching
And winter never was, nor winds cold,
In our temple eyes, the sun crowning
Imbued visions, fine as woven gold,

Draped in silks so rare, spun spinning,
To hear the birds sing in ears blossom,
For the very first time, true beginnings
And the flower's colour never forgotten,

All is morning now— song, sings singer,
To morn, wake, dream, dreams dreamer.