For centuries a throne room lies in waiting
For a king who has lost his way home
The land grows barren in waiting,
No sign of hope is left
In the depths of the sea
Sirens sing of a prophecy,
Legend has foretold the coming of
When a man learns to stand
On his wounded legs,
In front of the thing he fears
Without running back
A throne room lies in waiting for destiny
To light the empty lantern
A crown sits on top of a vessel
Who sees nothing but his loss
In the lines of his own two hands,
Blood like water
Runs like a river,
Down from his legs
To the ground beneath his feet,
Where shall he ever find the courage that he seeks?
a boy is fleeing
from the flames with
embers at his feet,
he chokes on the nostalgia
of the lost
swearing it was the last
time he'd ever go back,
a boy flees from
and yet, these flames
never seem to leave his
his hands turn to smoke
during the night,
like a cry for help
before he’s all burnt out.
your hands bring roses,
like a red death
hurtling from space
right into my palms.
i know this gesture
all too well, i have seen
a night emerge
out of memory with your
across the blood moon
time wanders the hollowness of my
roaming like a lost bird
through the skies that ache.
it carves out years and centuries
until nothing but the era of healing
must take its place.
time wanders within me, searching for something
to bridge the path between what was then
and what is now without killing me.
and when the era dawns upon me, at last
my hollowness will bloom white roses,
instead of red,
until i am nothing
but a fading beauty covered
from head to toe
in all that you call –– healing.
i find it harder and harder write, which is why i'm always falling behind.
how does one continue his journey without looking back to see what he has turned from? he cannot.
for he is tethered to his past, no matter how far he runs from it.
he is bound to run back to the thing that broke him, just to see if, after all this time, it still does.
excerpt from an incomplete poem