She
The nameless one
Not because of some grand act of malicious intent
No, quite the contrary
She, who has broken through to the foreground
only to fade back into the background
with such ease and subtlety
She, who sat comfortably in the worn brick
house of conversation
She, who's lasting impression left me neither
stunned nor hopelessly enamored
She, who is not named
who is far from the spectrum of malicious intent,
falls just borderline of the emotionally illicit.
Breathing softly into the ears of affection
from clear down the hall,
She, who is not named
cannot be named,
because what word would exist
that wouldn't rationalize and ultimately compromise
for the sake of understanding, and leave nothing
but a word instead of a feeling
that tried to slip by but got caught
too far and too close to the in-between.
But as if any of that matters.
Wipe the glass clean as much as you wish,
there will still be a pair of lips.

I think you’re

apple blossom

kissing salty ocean rocks

and thunder drills

The way golden lyrics flow not from lips but strings

and tie up souls

It gives hope to a long forgotten place that once held the promise of sanctuary

new life

and a fresh start in the land of granite rocks, kiss

miss

home.

A temporary home in your arms

and I think I’ll be alright if you just stay here.

Just keep your hand closed on my back and I’ll choke down whatever comes up

I’ll be okay for one more night because

captured rhythms

beat down whatever grief was scheduled for tonight.

Wars and weapons
Dreams destroyed
Lives cut short
A-bombs, H-bombs, F-bombs dropped
And all around you bodies lie
Defeat is inevitable
Just depends what you're fighting for
You can't wage war to keep peace
You can't stand by and watch your home burn to the ground
Verbal assault runs rampant
And the dove with the olive branch
Was just brought down
By the weapons of mass destruction
We keep on our tongues
And in our hearts

With cries of
he is risen
and the broken necks bent skyward
and the chorus of the spring
and the empty gaze of millions
Friends lost to the flood
of a following

You are a beacon in the dark,
with a red ember, at your fingertips.
Take another drag of your smoky romance,
and let it hang, tinged with red, at the edge of your lips.
I'd come with you anyways, just with the promise of company
through the night's solemn hours.
Would you give a name, and cease to be,
a spectre of the dark just long enough, for me to see,
the colour of your eyes?
Or will you fade behind that red beacon
and become the smoke you breathe.
So long as you wait, for the sun to wake
to leave, and I know you won't come back.
At least, not until
the quiet dark settles again.

Light another, we've got hours til morning.