Of withering tempests screaming to the break of sunlight,
Of unrelenting wind and pounding rain, she stands
With her back to crashing waves and painful bellowing,
A weak induction of steady sighs and silent contemplation
Would perhaps bring a peaceful conclusion to the rage
And reproach of a Goddess stirring on the fringes of insanity.

But never would it have taken to fresh insanity,
The gentle swirling of confusion between glaring eyes and sunlight,
How she would wish never to part from the burning of rage
And leave a scorched shadow on the very place she stands.
Never did she desire for the learned art of contemplation
But instead found solace in a frozen lake of tears and bellowing.

At the end of such a night filled with harsh anxiety and frenzied bellowing,
She finds herself staring into the gleaming eyes of Insanity,
Who dwells in sweet and blissful contemplation
And harvests the piteous glow of sunlight
Such that any man would freeze and cease where he stands
And succumb to the urgings of exhilarating rage.

A chilling gust would release the embracing rage
And perhaps bring wishful silence to the obnoxious bellowing;
She feels her feet sinking through the sand and stands
out of reach from the tearing claws of Insanity.
Relief in the warmth of ethereal sunlight
Proves a worthy companion of contemplation.

Eudaimonia, she finds in her deep contemplation
Free of sorrow, empty and weary from her onslaught of rage,
She casts herself into the welcoming cracks of sunlight
And in Euphoria, she finds herself no longer bellowing,
The slow and steady pull of her chains toward Insanity
Break away and leave her where she stands.

In new light, she finds her strength and stands,
Embracing the drifting stream of wraithlike contemplation
Would send shivers and open wounds that might invite Insanity,
But turning around and gazing out into those waves might blind the Rage
And bring peaceful sighs to interrupt the senseless bellowing
Such that black clouds would give way to glorious sunlight.

To the death of Rage and the estrangement of Insanity,
The wistful bellowing banished in the silence of contemplation,
The Goddess stands with her back to the wind, tears dried by the warm sunlight.

Had I not waltzed out into that fair night
And faded off into the autumn air,
As such would be the loss I dared endure
If ever such a life I failed to spare.

If I had been aware of such a place
Where blissful contemplation often floats
About in clouds of radiating light,
Perhaps I would find her there.

But even though the sturdiest of walls
Could stand in front of her, or deepest moats
Rest along her path in peaceful currents,
A barrier is yet a broken limit.

Or had she stood atop the tallest peak
Of ever treacherous vertical slate,
Could I simply stare blindly to that spire
As though she held the sun within her arms?

Or could I put my life to such a test;
Perhaps within a split-second decision,
That light which draws me in may never die
But even so, I still aspire to fire.

Or could my own propulsion bring me up
Along those horrifying mountainsides?
If not the danger, then the fear itself
Would lend itself to me and take its toll.

But had I ever reached that daunting spire
And gazed upon her ever lovely hair,
She’d simply spread her wings and fly away,
And leave me in the howling autumn air.

I often found myself in a life sinced passed
as though of smoke under a dark bridge.
I word in a shout or a whisper would float about
in shallow currents or deep below that stolid solid surface
of ice or concrete sent screaming in a simple step.

But to overwhelm such a life since passed
with the simplicity of a slamming door
or perhaps to view through a telescope;
those fine details from the vividity of a bedroom window
on a clear night would send shivers down my spine.

Had I stood idly by in a spellbound daze
as the light passed by with a swift spin and flourish
and faded to a pitch black before my eye,
perhaps then would I have understood
the importance of that touch before loss.

Or maybe had I sprinted silently
through the sauntering street
with my arms outstretched
to catch nothing but empty
air, it only seemed appropriate.

Only then would
I fall to the floor
and sleep it
all away, at least
for a short time.

But then
again, how
would I
have survived
the night?

Only
in
my
past
life.

I knew from the moment I stared up,
feeling the emptiness under my feet
and the depths by which I’d plunge
that you’d extend a hand of thorns.

But of course, you may turn around and vanish
or hold it over your head and let it
drop,
a worthless shimmering and shattering
of such a thing turned black in absence.

I had hoped you’d take the chance to
turn away from the darkness;
take your eyes away from the ceiling
and let your feet return to the floor.
Spend a while in the cool silence
or let the cold water rest on your shoulders,
inhale without fear,
or fall into breathlessness.
Resist my inertia.

No, I didn’t know it would be impossible.
I only knew that when you held out your hand of thorns,
that you would endure.

Blindness from the light and from the darkness.

May you stroll along those lonely fields with the Sun
To your back
And your toes sink through the sand
As a feather in snow.

Longing…

And I on my back outstretched
Far beyond the reach
And how the skies would open
Up
And blanket me in cool embrace

Cleanse?

Let the stream grasp my soul and take its leave
Along still waters, I should hope to find
That gaze I know which only you could give
And lead me far away to paradise
In a cloud
Or in a blink
Or in a drop.

Or shall you chop away at that Tree
       As a tear before a well
           As ice before a black road
               As stars on a backdrop
                    As things
                               Reach ends.
                                       Promise me and I will
                                      Hold my hands out over that cliff
                                              And you will promise to




Grasp my hand as I
                                Fall.

You sink your teeth in and never release.

A constant shock and AWE
you swim against the current always
keeping your head under water
forgetting to breath
and forgetting
who holds
you
down.

You are a glass bowl with the mentality of a diamond.
Embrace the air in motion,
hug the surface and meet your means to an…
Remember how it feels to be a shard
or part of an unfinished whole,
the light’s refraction pattern through an empty screen
or the statue carved into wood.

Remember who was there to glue the pieces back together,
because even though the hands were gentle
and the words kind,
the sound soothing,
a soft rhythm and
warm beat,
reminding
        that
the          tears
    would blend
with the
        rain,

that someone was there to pick the fragments
and endure the splinters.

Shall we bypass the rules for a bit?

And imagine the (freedom)
of a stroll to point A.
I had imagined such a trance
which the simple escape by a snap or a flick
would leave you in such disarray.
Or perhaps the choice presented itself
in the **** and a vanishing act once more.

Tell me where to go with this…
perhaps you’d enjoy the clouds in the night sky
or maybe even the reflection of the moon on cobblestone.
Take the light out of your eyes and wipe away the color
Or dip your toes in the water.
Pull your hand away from the fire.
Pretend to live.

Point me in the direction of the wind
And follow along, piece by piece.
Stagger along that wall and
maybe one day you’ll
release.

Or jump head first and realize
there was a time when you’d
think first, perhaps for a fleeting moment.
Hear my voice and grasp for my arm
and return.

Or flow downstream to the End
and bask in the warm sun for a time
in the light, so it seems.

Let the warmness remember you like I do.

Oh how I wish you’d just stay there

And give me a moment

To catch my breath

Before the doors open

And you’re

gone.

His face meets the plane of horizon
Her hand swings by her side                in broad strokes
His eyelids fall with the rain
Crashing over the moon in the ocean

And stretching along like the hum of the…
Breaking apart as the fine china punishes the tiles
In loud shouts, he knows the name
And speaks only in whispers

As a willow brushes along the blades
And lays in peace among the Green
She smiles with the sun
His footsteps, the frost.

And staring into the clouds in silence
Of all the gray and black would
Laugh and grin with eyes that bind
Spellbound, as the lightning strikes

And the rain falls.

The breath
The sigh
The warmth
And the ice
Washing away in a single sweep
A time
And a kind breeze caresses her shoulders
And his hands open
With sand and snow.

She presses her back to the world
He counts the steps
She hears the word
With an echo and gasp.

He opens his eyes
She smiles through the tears
And opens her hands
And the grass and the sun and she laughs.