Begin again,
with the heart in mind, they say.
Bring me the spirit of the mountain man.
Tell me the sadness behind your greatest regret.
Or lie
sweet little lies.
How and now,
watch me fly
through barriers that bend and sway
in the blind minutes of madness.
Strategy, schemes.
Stress and strain
the name of the game.
And we do it to ourselves.
Hope
I lost it on the merry-go-round of chance,
in the eyes of my first lover,
Goddess Fortuna,
when she turned away
from my pleas and cries,
leaving only
sweet, aching dreams
that haunted the years.
It is a dark night.
And I am thankful for the stars.
For smiles.
Company.
A flicker of importance.
The quiet skill of suppressing
a part of me
that dies.
Little sighs from my little sister.
Bellows from a big brother
who never found
meaning
in a mad,
mad,
mad world.
And I
I sit in the afterlight,
with a man mind full of fog,
where words move like old ghosts,
slow and shivering.
Across from me,
a woman smiles
but she is dead.
Her eyes curl like devils.
She reminds me
of all I cannot name.
The window slams shut.
The door is gone.
I am locked out here in the dark
or in here with her.
With you.
The trees outside plead upward
to a grey sky,
naked,
shivering,
asking for something
no one answers.
I want to scream
like they scream.
To signify.
To simplify.
Please.
How about our last song,
my dear?
Yes
let’s sing it.
Say it was a sweet serenade
after all.
Of sweethearts.
Please.
Don’t say it was of hurt
and longing.
Let the trees scream for us,
since we are too tired.
Let the sky cradle what we couldn’t say.
And if there’s no heaven
then may the wind
remember
how we once tried to be
more than echoes.
Feb 22
Feb 22, 2026 at 9:31 AM UTC
Begin again,
with the heart in mind, they say.
Bring me the spirit of the mountain man.
Tell me the sadness behind your greatest regret.
Or lie
sweet little lies.
How and now,
watch me fly
through barriers that bend and sway
in the blind minutes of madness.
Strategy, schemes.
Stress and strain
the name of the game.
And we do it to ourselves.
Hope
I lost it on the merry-go-round of chance,
in the eyes of my first lover,
Goddess Fortuna,
when she turned away
from my pleas and cries,
leaving only
sweet, aching dreams
that haunted the years.
It is a dark night.
And I am thankful for the stars.
For smiles.
Company.
A flicker of importance.
The quiet skill of suppressing
a part of me
that dies.
Little sighs from my little sister.
Bellows from a big brother
who never found
meaning
in a mad,
mad,
mad world.
And I
I sit in the afterlight,
with a man mind full of fog,
where words move like old ghosts,
slow and shivering.
Across from me,
a woman smiles
but she is dead.
Her eyes curl like devils.
She reminds me
of all I cannot name.
The window slams shut.
The door is gone.
I am locked out here in the dark
or in here with her.
With you.
The trees outside plead upward
to a grey sky,
naked,
shivering,
asking for something
no one answers.
I want to scream
like they scream.
To signify.
To simplify.
Please.
How about our last song,
my dear?
Yes
let’s sing it.
Say it was a sweet serenade
after all.
Of sweethearts.
Please.
Don’t say it was of hurt
and longing.
Let the trees scream for us,
since we are too tired.
Let the sky cradle what we couldn’t say.
And if there’s no heaven
then may the wind
remember
how we once tried to be
more than echoes.
