Sky!  Lift me gently up
as an infant bruised by life's measure
& forgive my Spirit for it aches
       by the fire
       by the brimstone
    of Life hard experienced
    of Life unforgiven to the end
Sky!  Your graceful colors are brilliant
     be regal by air rarer than Cherub-breath
     be held by no earthly governance
  breathe!  breathe!  life is the glorious
  battle!  battle!  life is the gift for
                    all victors!

:: 03.06.2020 ::

Trickling raindrops
         Falling teardrops Rising in thunder
     Shoulders begin to shudder
        To the striking light that flies
To the silenced cries
                     A window tightly shut
An ever hollowing gut
          Now the curtains are drawn
    For I'm just another lost swan
Lost another one of those fights
          Lost to another one of those
                Rainy Nights

Emptiness
echoes but does not return
the same lifeless message.
Only the stillness of the room reflects
such dreary gasps for color
and that still desire of the moth
longing to surpass its dull greys
for the wings of a fluttering butterfly
in its glory days.