I knew a girl called Sally
She was already dead
Cold and wistful
Barely hanging by a thread

Her limbs were pale and serene
Her heart was bloodless
Eyes sadder than funerals
And just as hopeless

I held Sally once
More than i care to elaborate
Should've held longer
Could've been my undead soul mate

She was witty and morbid
Random and spontaneous
But never sordid
Wise beyond her tears

In the roses we used to lie
Their flora trampled beneath
Look up at the morose sky
My, what beautiful weather.

believing,
it seems to me,
is the root of all knowing,
for what i have found
is worth far more than all i have lost.
what i once took for granted,
i now embrace each day,
like a breath of frigid air
on a morning laced with ice.
you magnetize me into
delight so deep and dark.
you are swirling, yes,
with all the light of things unknown.
all of you, which i have pulled
from dreaming
to become the reality beneath
the heavy lids that open to wonder,
enchantment; surely you know,
for your spell is natural
as the garden which flourishes
in your heart, planting sunlight
and bittersweet promises,
too much for a wanderer to behold.
yet he stops and stares,
as do i, for the day breaks
as surely as you will.
far more than this: soften
your edge to fit with mine.

Silver light filters down
  Shining upon nature's cool blanket
  Showing perfection that is so rarely reached
  The ground glows
  Like a promise of things to come
  Coming like the hunter stalking prey
  Leaving paw prints, destruction or art
  An avalanche of warning calls
  From sweet birds, just awakening
  Rising like the morning sun
  That slips over the horizon
  Melting winter's freeze
  Freeing the stream from ice's firm grip

You're my ******* and my freedom,
my flesh burning like a naked summer night,
you're my country.
Hazel eyes marbled green,
you're awesome, beautiful, and brave,
you're my desire always just out of reach.

What do you do in the middle of the night?
Don't touch the stars they can burn you. (it's a metaphor)
See the moon is going down.
If the darkness gets you you can't find your way...

In the inside and on the outside the reflections are full of space dust and
you can't understand if it is a truth or a lie
A ship of dreams pier or ensign
touches your wishes..
you want to cry but you can't...

If love is as small as a human heart you
just can not dare to have a bigger one
Try to taste the loneliness too and
you can feel its echo from the depth
and you can not understand if it good or bad..

You are different in the inside and on the outside.
Your "lesses" and "mores" will be mixed.
One will fit into the skin of the other.
If all these don't happen you won't be able to survive till morning.

A rowan like a lipsticked girl.
Between the by-road and the main road
Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance
Stand off among the rushes.

There are the mud-flowers of dialect
And the immortelles of perfect pitch
And that moment when the bird sings very close
To the music of what happens.

running miles
barefoot,
desperation pleading,
feet bleeding,
as i anxiously seek
salvation.

solid stance,
taking a chance
as i hold onto
what i believe in.

it's the difference
of who i thought i was
versus
who i truly am.

thank god
this
runaway
learned
how
to
stand.

Devastated was the word.  Yes, it fit.

The night before found her restless and fitful,  up and down, churning, besieged with scattered thoughts. Noisy chattering, fragmented bits of fear, hurt, shame, regret, disappointment and judgement, all jostling with one another, all scrabbling like jackals to be the first to gnaw on her bones.

Why was she carrying the full burden of shame? Had he not shown his flaws?

But as the indignation rose,  the words of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn  wept through like an Artesian wellspring of wisdom reminding, "But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?"

"WAIT JUST ONE MINUTE HERE, AL!" she protested.
crickets
"Oh no!" says she to herself,  as she dusted off her Ouija board, "You will come back here!"  

Nervous fingers and shaky vocal chords work together in a synchronized effort to pull him away from his glass of fermented potato and there he was, a bearded wild haired man with an intense stare that left her wriggling under her skin. But she was on a mission and she would not be deterred.

Clearing her throat, she began, "Mr. Solzhenitsyn ---"
Aleksandr raised his hand up  in a gesture to stop her
His heavily accented English softly penetrated the air.
"Pебенок, tell me, what do you need?"
"I need to understand."
"Tell me why." he pressed.

"Why?"  She forced her words past the hurt that sat lumped in her throat,"I'm trying to make sense of betrayal. How can people insist they truly love even after lies have been uncovered?"
"Tell me Кэтрин, would you agree that morality can often be found to be at odds with passion and desire?"

She nodded.
He continued, "And that good intentions are often found to be at odds with unconscious motivations?"
"Yes." she whispered

Aleksandr sat thoughtful for a moment, then gently and softly spoke. "You understand Кэтрин, your problem is, you want too much from understanding. It cannot turn shadow into light and it cannot right wrongs. So, no Pебенок, you are not in need of understanding. What you need is to accept that a thing is what it is."

He drew on his pipe and smiled tenderly. 
 "And you need to make a decision.
You must decide if your wounds have made you more ... or have made you less."