"Wearing the face kept in a jar by the door,"

The girl standing in the corner, all alone,
Wearing the face kept in a jar by the door,
Cries silently in the night when she's at home,
And nobody's there to see her fall to the floor.

Do you see the pink lines peeking out,
Under thick layers of cotton, in the hot summer day?
Do you hear the sound of her heart,
Cracking, shattering, with every insult she takes?

I don't think you do, I honestly don't,
From the way you stare with scornful eyes,
To the acid that drips from you lips,
I can tell that you don't know what your words can do.

"the cruel face of cold shunning"
Melody W 

Remember not the decay,
the cruel face of cold shunning
embers ceaselessly illuminating circularity -
by this time next Spring,
a completion of the
first increment of three
measuring your absence;
the rain pelting down upon us
shan’t amount to these
tired whispers of re-unity;
instead we command this moment,
healing ourselves to complete the cycle.

"offering, you solemnly turn your face away."
Melody W 

Listen closely - entities murmur deadened names
even in the still of night, their cautious eyes
turning milky with unheeded warnings; you
taunt formalities and are unaware of
intricate patterns of old (awakened by
northern winds). Somewhere in the distance, a
grieving voice is heard. Yet -

Given the chance to partake in this
offering, you solemnly turn your face away.

"as I turned my face away,"
Melody W 

August arrived too early this year,
eager eyes and straight pleats
tethered to the sleepy confusion
of a disrupted midday siesta

It was the end of cherry season
yet they kept bursting forth,
firm to the touch and cool,
unyielding - not unlike you

When distant bells were heard,
I didn't turn my head one bit,
tangled, so entranced was I
by the thickets of sweet fruit

A waning year upon us again,
the moon chided me softly
as I turned my face away,
ashamed at my reflection

"illuminating the motionless face of a stone mountain dwelling?"
Melody W 

Why is the speckled lark oblivious to the fading warmth
of a dying sun that taints the world with feeble light
illuminating the motionless face of a stone mountain dwelling?
Does it cease the rhythmic flutter of wings all aglow
fashioned like countless generations before and those yet to come?

When shadows fall and gradually disappear
into obscure crevices of clearings in woods never tread upon
it would seem that darkness exposes
reflects the barren souls living, existing,
and yet almost incapable of being.

So much of everything is composed of nothing
mere empty space yearning to pull off the illusion of reality-
until a desire to delve deeper
to push through quanta of energy
and minuscule atoms screaming with silent fury
ignite meaning

in psychologists and philosophers
      eager to present another iota of wisdom obtained
in a shivering orphan living day to day
      with an unparalleled yearning for better tomorrows
in a lark not oblivious to the fading warmth of a dying sun
      but striving with all the forces inside impelling it
to live in anticipation of a phoenix orb of light
to exist amidst this terrible chaotic world
gradually growing resplendent
cyclical as a flame

"northern face of the amber sky, they remain:"
Melody W 

Nuances of everyday life
albeit unspoken, flit through skies; silent
kites chasing eternity.

As we solemnly gaze at fading colors in the
northern face of the amber sky, they remain:

ears unwilling to accept the truth,
eyes unable to forget the light

"to face tomorrows once more"
Melody W 

We huddled together, the silent four
And you were silent too
as you have been all year

The overcast sky sighed, perplexed
upsetting the fortress we'd built
not of wood and clay

Our ashen faces turned to earth
and still this misaligned severance
mocked our false portal

And we trudged up the hill
empty flower pots in hand
to face tomorrows once more

"Solemn face cast downward"
Melody W 

Marked by imperfections
weathered by Time,
will your sturdy branch hold
the weight carried unwillingly
for so long?

One weary foot
chasing another
an infertile vicious cycle
unable to be tempered

Solemn face cast downward
cruel anticipation
bright slaughterhouse
a little ways down a
meandering dusty road
unbeknownst to most

Breathe once more,
Deafening gusts of
mockingly jaded motifs
fill your aching lungs.


Loveless departure;
please do not disturb
this final resting place
for unseeing eyes

The moon is bright today!
musings echo vacancies
Cast into the wind.

There is no moon in the sky.

"on the face of these"
Melody W 

This sweetest past-time
eludes you now, yet still
echoes your name,
your legacy carved
on the face of these
corrosive stones

Tiny pseudo crystals
held at arm's length
to catch the countenance
of a fractured sun
secretly mourn
albeit exuding brilliance

These loveless trails
hold such heavy hearts
withdrawn in their
imperfections, yet
reaching their slender
tendrils outward

to faintly touch
mere passersby
still on this journey  
that has surpassed you

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