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Even the one
who lights the world
can succumb to the darkness inside.

We become blind
and see only the light.

The darkness can easily hide.

So you've scattered yourself
to the billions of stars that
blanket the billowing night

to help hold at bay
the darkness that preys
on the strong
and the weak
and the rich
and the poor
and the brilliant
and dull ones
alike.

You gave of yourself
with such ferocity of truth.

You fought with all of your might.

So thank you, old friend
for sharing your gift
and rest now
in peaceful twilight.
All winter the fire devoured everything --
tear-stained elegies, old letters, diaries, dead flowers.
When April finally arrived,
I opened the woodstove one last time
and shoveled the remains of those long cold nights
into a bucket, ash rising
through shafts of sunlight,
as swirling in bright, angelic eddies.
I shoveled out the charred end of an oak log,
black and pointed like a pencil;
half-burnt pages
sacrificed
in the making of poems;
old, square handmade nails
liberated from weathered planks
split for kindling.
I buried my hands in the bucket,
found the nails, lifted them,
the phoenix of my right hand
shielded with soot and tar,
my left hand shrouded in soft white ash --
nails in both fists like forged lightning.
I smeared black lines on my face,
drew crosses on my chest with the nails,
raised my arms and stomped my feet,
dancing in honor of spring
and rebirth, dancing
in honor of winter and death.
I hauled the heavy bucket to the garden,
spread ashes over the ground,
asked the earth to be good.
I gave the earth everything
that pulled me through the lonely winter --
oak trees, barns, poems.
I picked up my shovel
and turned hard, gray dirt,
the blade splitting winter
from spring.  With *** and rake,
I cultivated soil,
tilling row after row,
the earth now loose and black.
Tearing seed packets with my teeth,
I sowed spinach with my right hand,
planted petunias with my left.
Lifting clumps of dirt,
I crumbled them in my fists,
loving each dark letter that fell from my fingers.
And when I carried my empty bucket to the lake for water,
a few last ashes rose into spring-morning air,
ash drifting over fields
dew-covered
and lightly dusted green.
 Aug 2014 Juniper Deel
Ben Jonson
FALSE world, good night! since thou hast brought
   That hour upon my morn of age;
Henceforth I quit thee from my thought,
   My part is ended on thy stage.

Yes, threaten, do. Alas! I fear
   As little as I hope from thee:
I know thou canst not show nor bear
   More hatred than thou hast to me.

My tender, first, and simple years
   Thou didst abuse and then betray;
Since stir'd'st up jealousies and fears,
   When all the causes were away.

Then in a soil hast planted me
   Where breathe the basest of thy fools;
Where envious arts professed be,
   And pride and ignorance the schools;

Where nothing is examined, weigh'd,
   But as 'tis rumour'd, so believed;
Where every freedom is betray'd,
   And every goodness tax'd or grieved.

But what we're born for, we must bear:
   Our frail condition it is such
That what to all may happen here,
   If 't chance to me, I must not grutch.

Else I my state should much mistake
   To harbour a divided thought
From all my kind--that, for my sake,
   There should a miracle be wrought.

No, I do know that I was born
   To age, misfortune, sickness, grief:
But I will bear these with that scorn
   As shall not need thy false relief.

Nor for my peace will I go far,
   As wanderers do, that still do roam;
But make my strengths, such as they are,
   Here in my *****, and at home.
He is the tumultuous ocean,
The twisting, rolling sea
That feigns a certain gentleness
Until its rage breaks free

So vast and so unending
And limitless in worth
I took him once for granted
As I wandered through the surf.

Without the tumulus ocean
Without its rolling seas
Without the tide that tosses me
And never sets me free

The arid, fallow earth would crack
Beneath my burning feet
Reminding me of which I lost
And dried up with the heat

But salt leaves me to languish
No sweetness he can quench
Time will only tell from here
If love can fill this trench.
This my Kiss Goodnight.. I do adore
The way I want to give you more
To fill all your empty space
Every part of you I wish to taste
Spiritual connection between our minds
Is solid...will pass the test of time
My soul a shadow with you every day
Strong at heart I know you'll stay
Rest your head my sleepy Queen
Feel me in your ****** dreams
Pounding you with all my might
My wish you feel this Kiss Goodnight...
M.A.N 4-23-14
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