I still stand here,
though terrified of falling.
slight breezes amplify,
becoming gusts to the mind;
slight sways to tumults,
upsets threatening demise.
remembering advice
of sage and wise -
never look down
when perched up so high.
pretenders will lie,
saying heart beats speed,
pounding in ear, but fear
homes in there.
it slows, knows
every pulse, a potential push
like butterfly tempest
to certain death
waiting below.
fingers freeze, unable to let go
anything steady
'till eyes fix to blue sky above.
precarious positions
feel a lot like love.

I'm getting old;
lest I forget, the mirror's always there,
reminder in grays
and new wrinkles to start the day,
hair since forgotten to behave.

Bold hearted youth,
scrapping in dark alleys
after bars closed,
left it's marks and scars
with sins to be atoned, too;

Broken heart remembered,
even as initials carved
into bark of thick skin
fade from being embarrassing
because that pain
never really healed inside.

And as close as old stars may arc
as they fly on by, they just go on by,
because clocks can't stop
and stardust moves much too fast
for an old man to grasp.

settle, then, in serpentine
words once heard when
mixing roses and turpentine -
tales spun again in oils
flung on canvas sheets
always stretched too tight.
tonight a frail frame
might break
before colors make pictures.
It's only cheap pine
that holds it all together,
old bones with thin skin
you'd see through were
it not for the layers of
pigmented emulsions of
emotions trying to hide
the white, wordless,
grinning death waiting
underneath

ink flows dull, now, on paper,
a tin tongue reciting
marks made leaden, and clouds threaten
to end dappled light here

even air breathed seems heavier,
breezes lost sweet scents
on descent from heaven,
bearing stale traces of  madness

things once destined to dance -
words, fluttering butterfly wings,
bodies of impossible fantasy -
stilled in trite fairy tale trances

awaiting touch some angel's lips,
fragrance wished from heaven sent
to reanimate brittle, nacred hearts,
like magic kisses of a princess.

life has always depended
for its existence on airs unseen;
souls' dance their passionate dreams,
only in waking finding reality ended.

furious cravings found birth
among songs sung by a siren -
I do, still, that distant voice search,
Imagining rare music was mine

Bones steeped in storms
Feel them coming,
Past terrors remembered
In recesses of marrow.
There's no safety
Behind stone walls of homes, either;
Nor compassion for tears of children
Nor weary backs of old men
Who try to protect them.
Little ones hide fears in the cellar
Or deep in down pillows,
Drowning howling to low murmurs
While weary souls stare into eyes
Of the devil, bracing for battles
Never won, but survived
'Till sun shines once more,
Sweeping up pieces of life
As always, come morning,
When smiles and breakfast
Hide destruction
Of the night before.

Ogres once hid behind rocks in the garden
Guarding grass and blossoms
From those who'd defile them.
Evil done from innocent oaks
Wrapped tight in jute ropes,
Those shows for the children
Who stared wild, wide
At white sheets and men dancing
Some curing like hams, hanging from branches.
We thought saints from distance had stopped it -
Carnage in leaves after parades
****** of hate in the streets.
Old stories torched, sealed lips
Evidence lost or forgotten.
Devils unmasked and converted,
Now singing hymns in pews
At white churches on Sunday,
Burning Jesus in secret at night in the forest,
Just trees and stars to bear witness
Their worship of wizards and spiders,
Prancing through ashes like white knights astride
Their grand, imagined white horses.
Saints, grown bored of the chore they started,
Taught men new words to pretend
They'd never offend - at least not in public -
As smoke still corrupts lungs of the children,
Playing old games with new rules they've been given.