Waiting for the sea she sits
writing with her fingertips
setting down herstory on the sand;

waiting, with a wistful eye
watching for the rising tide
wondering if stories can be drowned..

WHILE I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,
My heart would brim with dreams about the times
When we bent down above the fading coals
And talked of the dark folk who live in souls
Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;
And of the wayward twilight companies
Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,
Because their blossoming dreams have never bent
Under the fruit of evil and of good:
And of the embattled flaming multitude
Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,
And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name,
And with the clashing of their sword-blades make
A rapturous music, till the morning break
And the white hush end all but the loud beat
Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.

She wrote your name on her paper heart
Swore to hold you close
But you could not see fragility
Under blue skies, rain, or smoke
And just like that she tried to hide
The rip, the tear, the pain
Your gushing river tore her apart
Like papered artwork in the rain.

- c.t.

Within me the voices
Of virtues and vices
Battle valiantly
Daily for victory.

When the sun is gone,
When the moon is not shone,  
There is always someone,  
Whose always alone,  

When the rain has stopped,
And the streets are wet,  
His tears have dropped,  
He is really sad , I bet,  

When he is surrounded by darkness,
When he is filled with regret,  
His soul and body unite in coldness,
He looks familiar perhaps you guys met,  

He is me...