~
Dead ahead
The target is always
On a similar horizon
It's about surviving
Every blasted thought
More than eliminating all threats
When they strike
They form castellated holes
That network new fears
To long existing trauma
Careening off the deep seams of life
In intervals of jagged breath
I become part of the debris
A genuine tourist attraction
The size of a crater
Even after nothing else
Remains of my former self
~

It's raining tonight

on our summer memories --


They are washed away.

The winds blew north
for hundreds of days,
but one day,
the winds changed.

They started blowing south.
And everything in their path
started going south as well.

A bad day away
From the end of things,
Cause not a person stays.

And everything remains the same,

Despite all the change.

An hour to twelve,
When the clock strikes.
I burn one down.

And the match reminds me of hell;

Of dark depths, lit by scorching light.

Most deepest of desires, and precious hopes
We are fond of holding you close,
Fearful we will share our thoughts

And be lost to ourselves

To understand, what we know we never can

And suddenly, as if waking from a child's dream,
I am thrown into reality,
not awoken softly by my mother's warmth
but startled and bewildered to find her not there.
I exit the hazy surrealness of midnight rendezvous,
and the disillusionment snakes its way around my heart.
As if struggling to find my breath or finding myself alone,
I am starkly confronted yet again with my naiveté.
I am transformed into that little girl who trusted so easily,
and now, it is not just disappointment but also shame
that, like a vapor, evades every corner of my being.
To have believed in a dream and my own competence,
I am still that foolish little girl who never learned.
Perhaps, the worst part of gullibility is the knowledge
that the fool and the fooled will always be you.

In the dusk's fading light of youth , a ghostly spectre stands tall,
An abandoned wreckage at the old dock's forlorn sprawl.
Once majestic, now decaying, she's a vessel of despair,
The timbers of her heart weathered and worn, beyond any repair.

Like a fossil of forgotten tales, she stands in solemn gloom,
Haunted by memories, whispered secrets, and tales of doom.
The ocean's embrace turned hostile, her beauty eaten to decay,
As the years wore on, stealing her magnificent colors away.

Anchored in the stagnant waters, trapped in a wistful trance,
An epitaph of dreams dashed she's a vessel caught in circumstance.
Tangled in seaweed's grasp, her sails once proud and taut,
Now a haunting reminder of a journey that was never sought.

Tempted by the tides of time, her fate was sealed,
the undying resilience broken, her septic wounds revealed.
There she lingers, forsaken, a relic of forgotten glee,
A rotting boat, a silent witness to the cruelty of the sea.

I break my own heart with hope
that it mends stronger,
and that others reach out to help.

i cling to false independence,
and bitterly bite back blood and anger,
sadness and complacence.

i create a fortress in my mind,
constructed, brick by brick,
to shield me and complain
when no one finds their way inside.

i'm not sure what i hate more-- everyone else?
or me.

the protea magnifica
or queen protea
as it is also known
is a south african flower
of which until recently
i was shamefully unaware
a sprawling shrub
of varying height
dependent upon
influences of its growth
but a hardy plant
nonetheless
able to survive
and to thrive
under the starkest
of conditions and habitats
its flower is not delicate
like many others
but a symbol of survival
of resilience and growth
its boldest of blooms
an array of brightest hues
sending a message
of strength and power
courage and hope
yet the tightly held
closed cup of its petals
suggests a reluctance
to be noticed
an uncertainty
of it's own true beauty
perhaps in comparison
to its kingly namesake

Everything changes

and suffers from it, I too --


am living that way.