She came upon me with the weathered wings of a late winter nor’easter
Howling with screeching ecstasy and the anticipatory trance that follows
The piercing, splintering painful delights that reaches into my depths
Enigmatic eyes that judge my every motion
I drop my guard; flinging my shield of past tragedies to the barren ground
I’m caught in the sticky web of love
Wrestling halfheartedly attempting to convince myself I have fought the good fight
I hold on tight to anything within reach before the gales of temptation commence
I sense pain, delight, emptiness, belonging, blackness, and enchantment simultaneously

She holds the power of life and death in her grasps and won’t release her hold until I allow her to suffocate my heart

I don’t want your salvation
I just want your understanding
The streets I walk are empty now, filled with regret
The sky is overcast with despair, thundering its agony
I have no memory of our dreams anymore,
All flushed away in the remembrance sewer
I feel so alone
If you continue to embrace my state, you can expect to be disappointed
My expedition into the underworld is well trodden
If it helps, I’ve overcome this journey before
A whiff of jasmine and sandalwood has stirred me before
A bright autumn day or a brisk summer breeze
Has been known to pull me from my the subterranean vault
And yet I have always expected another return spree
Always anticipating and strangely joyful
That this will be the last trip
And I will finally find the peace and quiet
Of the vacuum of space

My memory vault harbors no treasure
From youth it’s where I store tragedy
A vacuum that ***** up heartbreak
A Black Hole where grief and pain cannot escape
Memories replay over and over
Death, disasters, accidents, and misplaced trust
And yet I’m sad when death wipes a vault clean
Where is happiness stored?
Something other than Christmas morning
But there it is; a happy thought.
I should dig deeper with a bulldozer instead of a trowel

It’s nearly half a month since the equinox
Drenched in the cold among the dead
Anticipatory of any color other than grey
The tree branches disfigured from winter
A lone squirrel zigzags to avoid the quiet killer
The pancake maker
The meandering bruin seeks to devour anything in its path
Leaving a wake of topsy-turvy blue wheeled bins
Spring is that alarm clock with the inviting snooze button
Where is the warmth that was promised?
Where is the rain that is dreaded?

New England’s ravenous ground is ready
For winters waiting cadavers
How long must they wait?
Spring is anticipated with its many preconceptions
It eases in and is hardly noticed
Warm days intermingle with the frigid
Until frost is an intolerable memory
Spring is manic depressive

I am free to sway from my precarious perch
Outstretch my wings of sullen words
And soak up the shadow light
Of another winter’s night

Morning is nigh and blanketed
By dawns lethargic cotton-bally sky
Melodic chirping and the droning on
Of another winter’s morning

The Sun’s warmth has yet to reach my hollow bones
Motionless and afraid
My indignation is not yet complete, reticent
Of another winter’s afternoon

And the light that once illuminated my soul
Has dimmed on this weary day and
I take flight as the red dusk promises the hope
Of another winter’s evening

Orphaned Souls falling like coal snowflakes
An overabundance in the heavens? Perhaps
I see them strung together to form wiggle-less worms
Eyeball floaters blocking ethereal visions
They bring phantom smells of lavender and patchouli
Then vanish as if aware of my presence
It’s but a dream

Today, one more was added to the soul heap as she left the body
Another bereaved soul
Why does this force me to breach my beliefs?
Am I not content to be a slave to my own ignorance?
It requires less work and I’m tired

Enlightenment requires a mind as vulnerable as the Universe
Free to fall from grace
And the confines of the caged soul
Each door that opens presents another that is locked
I fear I lack the strength to break open these barriers
But I so desire to catch the wafting souls drifting from dream to dream

Why must you wait for me
To rise above this endless fog
You wear the word martyr
like a bejeweled badge
Awaiting your ticket tape parade
I would gladly hide in my labyrinth
A careful construct of limitless emptiness
Illuminated by the new moon
I stumble through and through
Hoping for a quick exit over the cliff
But as usual, I’m sure footed

There is no room for you to wait
The fog is growing ever murkier
Although destitute of happiness
I can feel its presence forever in a memory
This is one thing that can be called hope
So there; some promising words to cling to
And know that I am not hopeless