So this is what they mean by hell on earth
what happens when you stop believing
in faith and haven't yet figured out what's left
a curse for thinking, for thoughts are what brought me here
for Death is my master, lest I forget
he will send reminders every now and again
tear me from my body and set me up atop
to watch it stumble and fall apart
and it is anguish more than pain
when your mind doesn't want to stay
and you can't help but despair
for how can I do this until the rest of forever?
how many days more can I force myself to seem okay?
it is but a moment, but a flash
but it is an eternity
of burning dark and flame compressed into a second in time
waiting erratically to go supernova
it is the kiss of night searing back during daylight
I hug myself but I cannot find comfort in the grasping of my own arms

Suddenly, I see the wasteland behind my eyes
where I do not smile and stars go to die.

Writers are forged from the fires of struggle
made to never crumble under pressure
like treasures embedded with diamonds.
Writers are fighters facing thunder and lightning,
writing the spark, the shock, the rumble
and the calm that comes after.
Writers are like iron forged under fire
burning with desire to be as strong as possible,
as sharp and logical as any thunderstorm.

Writers are roses in a valley of dandelions
aligned with lines as thorns and rhymes as petal,
which settles on paper.

The laughter of leaves
whisper testament
over cool caverns,
ancient moss
the absurdity of clocks
dashed upon rocks
while they dance,
backlit with sunglow,
at the true speed
of life
daring us to defy
the timeless tapestry
in which all are woven
Do stones large and small
not rustle
like leaves
in the eye of the mountain?
and is the leaf not as solid
as stone, to the aphid?
And what lives between
two lover-friends?
It is no brief candle
measured with ticks
on numbered dials
It moves not with the flash
of a single spark
Nor with the slow glow
of dawn
In gentle illumination
it is a soft gentle kiss
drifting on mist,
and it moves
at the speed of love,
with the rhythm of life

Copyright © 2016 K. Rush

Could there be no love
For me to dive deep
Lost in pitch dark
Rest in nowhere
Could there be no pain
To Heal me bad
Write me melody
Remember nothing

I remember
What is not exist
I bathe in
What is not wet
Numb in roam
I continue my walk
I tread on the air
Read fading signs
I have nowhere to in
So lost and bewildered

What if I go back
And delete our first scene
So there would be no love
And pain
I would have clear sight
And wide lungs to breathe
Empty sheets
And goodness saying