Lying, cheating, thievery
Were his devils trident
Piercing through an Angel's wings
Leaving her spirit spent

"I know that she could not leave me"
Blinded by self content
Refused to see his hands in things
Never would he repent

Yet Angels heal and then see
Past pretty ornaments
To a future that would always sting
At the point of his trident

Now alone, trident and he
Without love heaven sent
Bemoaning how fate pulled the strings
Blinded by his own contempt

Appears a ghostly vision, fog in from the sea.
As if sentient in movement,  shrouds all in it's mystique.
With a cyclop eye, lighthouse lends a mournful wail.
While specters breath dampens all, your marrow the chill impales.
Out of sight, crashing waves, sound loud as if they crawl,
following the living mist as it breaches the seawall.
Seeping round panes and doors, into every crevice.
The very air liquefied, a grey oppressive presence.
Wood smoke blends it's flavor to the tang of the air.
In hopes the flames beat it back, keep tendrils from drawing near.
Slowly it tastes it's fill of wooden planks and blood.
It leaves a sodden salt strewn smell seeming to just dissolve.
Folding back on itself, returning to the brine.
Fog waits yet another morn to return to shore and dine.

Curious. How we view ourselves, while on the slab we lie
Knowing forever shut, earthly windows, our eyes
Modesty behind us now, embarrassment we don't feel
Our flesh, we don't cringe away, from the frigid stainless steel
To look with no emotion, incisions, from the autopsy knife
Every muscle utterly still, relaxed as never in life
No blood to rush a blush, our cheeks a pallid waxy grey
Lividity of our skin, shows how in death we'd lain
Enevitably we will be reduced to a dusty grime
Either by an uncaring fire, or the mercy of time

Just give me one good reason why I should go with you,
running round the yard nekkid, like we use to do.
Don't you recall the repercussions the last time we did that?
There's places on me I don't want sunburned, that is a fact.
Why, everyone in this small town knows who we are.
You never know when someone will drive by in their car.
I do believe the neighbor uses a telescope.
Into other peoples homes, her nose she likes to poke.
Now don't you go laughing at me as I turn beet red,
as you pull the shirt off over your head
I'm trying to talk some common sense into you.
I must admit that I am enjoying the view.
I can do this by myself, I don't need any help.
I'm not stalling for time. Oh! A breeze I just felt.
All right then, here we stand in our birthday suits.
Well, almost, you do look cute in them cowboy boots.
O.K. off we'll run together, when you count to three.
Take my hand, I can't believe I'm doing this..................1,2,3,WHEEEEEEEE!

My love lies 'neath the fragrant boughs
of pine, within yon stand of trees.
Where upon a bed or ferns he did deeply drowse,
whilst locks of hair were tickled by the breeze.

I sat near to count the seconds pass,
till he would wake and espies my vision there.
Then into his arms I would fall at last,
loving away the longing of these past years.

Silver moonlight contrasts a God like form,
in leather breeches and shirt of linen.
Four years he was gone, I had been forlorn.
There he lay so close to home and kin.

Lashes rest upon sculpted cheeks of bronze,
hiding from me eyes of liquid brown.
Eagerly I awaited the sun of dawn,
to show me more of the marvel I had found.

Yes, my love lies now 'neath the fragrant boughs
of pine within yon stand of trees.
Now eternally he does drowse,
as I fatally grieve down upon my knees.

For as the sun rose upon his stubble face,
I saw the lines of pain and of bloom erased.
Of life, my frantic hands, could find no trace.
What game is this so cruelly played by fates?

Shame
remains
with me still.
Even after
forgiveness given.
My eyes still see the truth
written on my reflection.
If I could get past self loathing,
to accept that I can not change this,
then perhaps, I could, once again love life

.....Not only do we grow numb, but resentful,
to the truths that we now know as lies.
Lies that glisten upon the floor  
within those shards of broken, reflective glass.
Glass and blood.
Blood which adds contrast, allowing splinters
to stand out in the starkness.

Starkness is in the clarity we yield when our thoughts
arrest our actions, before there are no "do overs."
Over the course of years, we watch in wonderment,
abject terror and denial, that which we have transformed into.

To see in the mirror the Gods honest truth of yourself,
and loathe it.
It is not anger that makes one lash out, to break the image which leers back with no
pity, no reason, no answers.

Answers we have plenty, truths, we have not.....