once upon a time
there was
a circle

and it drummed
and it
strummed

and the lump
in
my
throat
the size of a tyrant's
fist
dissolved
into
a pure
white light feeling

and i was a

person

a part of something
not apart
not asunder  
a heartspace coming coming

a star starring

afar
in the distance
guiding my lost feet toward
an oasis
that actually

is

a new start an art of being dreaming awake made

for you

a land of yay to hold in the palm of your hand and
a vibrating tone
resonates in that numb sternum
a tone that
lay
one
shade
away
from the ten thousand and ten whites of the first light
ever lit

Her womb receiving you
again

Thine leaves art wilted, flying to and fro,
And thy limbs reach out as if in sorrow.
"Dost thou not remember what once was held?”
Thy branches crack whilst leaves into dance meld.
The moon doth rise as children’s laughter rings.
Through the night thy old hollow solemnly sings
Of twisted grins and melancholy wolf cries,
And how every man thee meet sadly dies.
But thy eternal heartbreak shall not wane
Thy every breath will be met with pure pain;
Death shall not return thee to its icy grip.
Forevermore, thou shalt bring people to Death.
Until the rope that hangs on thine branch cease,
Cursed to be known only as The Hanging Tree.

There's a small place in my heart, and it has yet to be filled.
The place in the midst of where I hide my words, and my worth.
Not a soul has earned this place, and no soul ever will.