death floats through the cities
casts its shadow across the deserts
sneaks into villages and huts

sometimes quietly
sometimes with a deafening blast
leaving corpses and rubble in its wake

no time a safe time
no zone without its horrors
no end of suffering for humankind

religion once more a deadly weapon
harnessed to serve power and greed
all saviors sacrificed in vain

Desire. It's the storm cloud that creeps
Across the skull and blocks the light of common sense.
It's the janitor with a hidden agenda
That doesn't allow any light bulb to come on.
A Svengali swinging a pendulum left to right,
Until the mind is at its complete beck and call.

Desire. It reaps millions of butterflies;
Grown in the stomach. Wanting to be free.
It's the cause of the tension in your body.
The tsunami in your eyes. The quaking of the hands.
Most importantly, it's the internal burning sensation
That spreads to become a hole in the heart.

Desire. It's the delicate crumbling of anxiety
That melts with the comforting warmth of relief.
The fire of temptation; burning so sweet
As sweat collects upon victims unknown.
The aching in the muscles, the knocking in the chest
Of a heart whose cavity has been patched up.

Desire. It's the patch that frays over time
And the hole is re-opened. Tears re-flood.
The trembling vocal chords and the cracking voice
That fall like foundations under searing heat.
The eventual destruction and its finality
That hit you with a dull metallic taste in the mouth.

Finally knowing that no matter how bad you want it,
You will never own it unless under its own terms.
Advice? Read the fine print.

Hold the tired hands suppressed by eons
calloused by the tears of generational fears
carousel your caress in resonated templed arks
harks of walks, ever fervent, reverenced and etched

Tender love from ancient ambient scented rocks
metamorphic withered limestones in evolvement
sedimentary chains of life, tagging in ageless dreams
of resurrections from the eye of the untorn needle

I see a deer,
by a cold babbling,
partly frozen brook,
he's taking a quenching needed drink.

He looks my way,
& gives me a wise,
careful long stare,
with a curious look,
& sweetly wistful wink,

I look up to the twilight sky,
then he's just...

g
  o
    n
      e
         .
           .
          .
           .

In just a single momentary silent blink.

I stop a moment,
sigh
I stop to appreciate,
watch & thank him,
as I sit on a mossy frozen log,
to stop,
- to think,

I hear a sound,
my heart,
hitting bottom,
as I feel it just..

                   S
                      I
                        N
                           K

G...
     O...
          N...
              E... ,

A shockingly loud-

B L A S T

A single gunshot,
wound,
I'm the one bleeding,
Oh no!
and now I'm the charge of this leaking,
& all of this unholy ink.

Cherie Nolan © 2016

We're all in a bit of a pickle
All in a bit of a jam
We'd like our cake and eat it too
If we possibly can

We'd like to take the biscuit
The icing on the cake
But for now it's hard cheddar
We'll just have to wait

Some things are simply understood
Without the need for spoken word
Others better said out loud
So they may be heard

Some thoughts are better unexposed
So not to harm the atmosphere
Others need to fly and soar
To land on lover's waiting ear

Hold the tongue, bite the lip
Let not insults from it trip
But compliments that smooth the way
Let them see the light of day