A gale tramples over fallen doors,
And desperate faces cling to a quivering flame, yet
No wall can reach their shadows.

I stand there  shuddering with each lash
from the ice beyond the hearth,
A slow trickle from its toil dyeing the rubble at our feet. But still
No heads turns to face the dark.

I only know every spark withers and dies as it drifts from our circle, though the brightest voyage furthest into the night.
Looking beyond I am neither trapped nor free, but destitue
It is not resolve, courage, or despair that now turn me; I am lulled and must wake.

All thoughts deceive. Thoughts of men inspired, of gods deranged, echo in me,
And which is worse I do not know.

So tonight I will follow the sparks into gale,
Let the lash scour my ears of every voice,
And hope no man foolish enough to follow.

If there is not a solution, a transfusion, a deliverance
Then may Death’s sweet kiss deliver me from this.
I will not be alive trapped in my mind:
Hell is empty, they put the devils here
For me to unwind.

Even in the darkest night
With winds cold kiss that tempest that batters
I would find or make shelter and light
To ruminate on all that matters

Of want and needs
Of those that do and don't
Of good and bad deeds
Of those that will and won't

Of death decay growth and life
Of joy and sorrow
Of triumph and strife
Of hope on the morrow

Of dew on a blade of grass
Of sunlight through trees
Of critical mass
Of conversations and the flight of bees

~Wes Noneya ©

I burned in a tempest
When I met you, by the sea
Nine wild months ago
I give life to misery
Now, as I love you no more

We stood there
As steady as willows
The wind howling
And tears streaming
You confessing
You kissed him
My heart breaking
His lips caressing
Your rose petals
Some hard as a rock ****
His body better suited
At shielding yours
From the tormenting stares
Of disbelieving onlookers
And all was silent
Except for the cracking
Splintering of my heart
Like a hundred year old oak
Fighting its last storm.
And so I ask you
Is his hands better suited
At caressing
Tressing your hair?
Is his body better suited
To form to yours at night,
When the storm bellows
And you can't hide?
Is his lips better suited
To kiss yours goodbye
As sweet as sunshine
Promising better when
The morning comes
And those same lips
That kissed your betrayal
The night before
Return with a love anew?
Tell me, is his name
As sweet-sounding
As mine was
When he says he loves you
And you return it,
Making the statement his
Repeating his name
Again and again and again
Until it becomes tattooed on your tongue?
Tell me this,
And I'll disappear
Just like the storms you hid from
Each night
I held you closer
And I'll disappear
When the sun arrives
When he arrives
And there will be storms no more.