We're in the middle of nowhere
Except trash bags are our tumble weeds
And the ash is our wind
The broken trees the children
And the fire our kin
The ash moves beneath the dry leaves
The fire plays within the broken trees
And the children die from choking on ashes

Eurydice's ****** body is covered in moss
I feel her aged finish and weep

We all scattered when it hit
I ran into an abandoned watermill
To hid from the infection they're trying to spread
The knowledge of good and evil

Apartment complexes mowed down
Only the doors remained standing
To be open and allow a sound to come out
The sound of defiant opposition
That will shake the world from this contagion

The Birthgiver's sacrifice, her life taken in vain
Now a mystic, an alchemist, a shaman and a mage come from the other side of the world

Here is the sound
The one the calls us
Here is the picture
Faded to yellow
Tattered away by time

Fine rain falls and blankets the ground
blurs the images so that it resembles an impressionists scene.
Staring out the window lost in the fine lines of life.
I feel you across the line of time,
I hear you vibrating on the universe's string
I see you in my minds eye
I taste you on my skin, in a snowstorm, in a deluge, in a breath of air,
and I gasp, the only sense lost to me is touch.

You're gone.
You're only here in my memory when I cease so will you.
The scene below my window has moved on apace.
I know not these images, I know only you.
Day after day you return to me,
Day after day you fail to see me.
Day after day you sit and drink.
Day after day I watch you disappear.

This space above the daily pace of life was mine before yours.
I opened the door for you, yet you never fully entered.
Alone you came, alone you remain,
a pity though, for should you cross the string of time
your soul will see mine.

theres a spider in my bathroom he is big and hairy
with his big long legs he looks very scary

he sits in a web so big and very round
roaming round his weave he dosent make a sound.

his home is the corner over by the door
some times he comes down and walks across the floor.

a friendly little chap as friendly as can be
going where he wants too roaming round so free.

No matter how dark the bedroom,
I can always see your eyes
Seeing mine.

Sometimes your hands follow;
Find my face or other
Skin.

Mine may reply, reach to
Feel, draw to kiss.
And there is fire in this.

No matter how dark the day.
Clouds heavy with rain promising
Thunder:  

A child with a toy on the floor,
Undaunted; preoccupied,
Leaving worry to us grown-ups

Gathering pillows from balconies;
Seeing a storm as more than it is.
There is fire in this.

I've held shaking hands over a
Keyboard wet with tears, trying,
Trying to put words

On the burning within; the
Heart broken and rebroken
Until it needed

Stitches and staples
To hold together, finally
Finding faint flickering flames

Deep within the darkest darkness
Of that abyss. Whispering relieved:

*There is fire in this...