Red and yellow leaves
with varying oranges
Littering my lawn

winter faded like old parchment, drawn in charcoal
the trees waited for the inevitable colours of spring.
your voice coloured silence and left me standing
away from the crowd with my head inclined to yours,
listening to you, the shadows swept away and your
voice like the moonlight, the blue inks of the sea.
i watched you unwind night skies and the night stars
that burnt in the rivery realms of lost ruins and whispering
dreams, fell like dead men before your passion and there
was no reasoning with what you believed and you had
no compassion for the world. hatred fired up before
my forgiveness and you could not forgive. how many  
oceans scattered their flowers and light, how many
armies fell before the burning amber of your eyes?

this memory
this ghost for hire
for which i pay dearly
is worth as much, or more

these blue night skies
and black sky days
deserve as much, or more

rainy eyes my mind clouds make
sunny eyes my mind clouds fake

take, take, take
that is all she does
it is all she knows

this ghost
this memory
this love

©Jason Cole

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over the harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

My world is not of the written word
It cannot be numbered
held captive on a so called page

My world is liquid
as sea , rain , snow or ice
It can be hot , cold , or entice

My world is cloudy
It thunders after it flashes light
My world is wrong , my world is right

There are no words that bind my life
I won't be delegated
to exist in the black on white

I will not be staved
by the limited sways
of the written words upon the page