With a hint of death
mingling in the air,
the nocturnal snapdragon is
digging wells,
not just for water,
but also as final resting
places for friends back home,
in the garden,
deep within the soil.

Callous hands and feet
speak of insufficiency
and misery under the sun,
the one lone solace comes
with night,
and the partaking of
her body's delicacies,
bringing her innumerably
to the helve,
as she sings heavenly things
about the architecture
we creatures fall
so easily from.

I cannot remember the memories I forgot
I'm sure they are there somewhere
between despair and uncaring
un sharing them
thus
they have diminished
like unfinished furniture
left in the cellar
dwellers of the dark

Be a spiritual beggar.

i care too much about the wrong things,
i care too little about the wrong things.

deep within her soul
behind a keyless door
sleeps a dancer who flows freely
with the staccato rhythms of life
and that with her fluid motions
creates a shining world of love

but now the goddess sleeps peacefully
hibernating in enchanted lullabies
while shes lays dormant deep within
until her chamber door is opened
and she bursts into radiant life
finally escaping her prison of fear

The lover of winter
and the lover of fall
wed in the summer
and both died unhappy.