Darkness Growing in Twilight's Desolation
An Ebony presence crossing the foggy mist
His wings unfurled will bring damnation
onto Someone I love and used to miss.

A distant dream, like a cry from the dark
The raven's shadow, an obscure forebode,
I heard from afar a dying Dog's bark,
(A minute ago, the reaper spoke.)

While a white rabbit hurries back to its hole
near the bell tower of the barren lands,
where Diamonds are extracted from the blackest coal
And miners with silver pots dig with their own hands.

I see no reflection in the golden mirror,
which makes me think that the raven is getting nearer.

Life is loss, pain
You move on, push past it
You write subroutines to deal
To ease, to distract, to bypass
Again and again until
You are more subroutine
Than you are yourself
And you wonder
At what point did pain
Become more relevant
To life
Than living?

your little bones could not outlast
the fevered fire that burned too fast
you died curled up against my thigh
for hours i didn’t know how to cry

you weren’t a god, you weren’t a guide
only fur, and warmth, and love inside
no words to give, no voice to lend
but still, you were my sweetest friend

i shared my wins in quiet light
you wagged your tail just right
you didn’t speak, but still you knew
my joy was yours, and yours was true

now some days pass without your name
and guilt arrives like quiet flame
but from above you lay upon my chest
a pitter-patter, small and blessed

you don’t stay long—you never do
you know to leave before i lose me too
like bubbles born in tender skies
you rise, you shine, then softly die

a bubble’s life is short and sweet
but still too long until we meet.

so when i cross that final line
i’ll bring you home one last time
you’ll squeal and jump into my lap
tucked in tight, ready for your nap

next time though, you’ll be here to stay
i know i’ll have bubble back some day

I still mourn for you
Although you're alive
Living a normal life
I mourn for the future
That had you in it
I mourn for the death
Of the dreams we had
Crying every night
For a love lost once
I mourn for the version
Of us smiling together
I am pleading with anyone
Bring back what is gone
Because I am tired
Of mourning the loss
Of whom I loved

Come and weep,
Silently, tears will guide you to sleep,
As your lover comes to know,
The grave of water's undertow.
Another claimed,
In the name of explorer's fame,
A name, that once you pass on,
Will be all but gone.
Not a soul has ever carried it as close,
As you have for so long.

Don't be foolish,
Staring at the sea,
He is truly gone,

Even when the fleet comes rolling in,
You won't have that kiss at dawn,
He promised you as he left.
So hang your lonesome head,
The worst is yet to come,
Fill his grave with sea things,
It's all that's left of him anymore.
Your life together,
Now ancient lore,
Lock it up,
Before you wake up.

A man drops on the field
Falls like a rock to the dirt
Raises a shout from the enemy and a shout from his friends
Deadweight to the company
They will haul him back to camp
Bury him like a goat by the main road
The funeral will be quiet
Men gathered around a mound
They will smoke cigarettes and forget which way up they put his head
The man in the passing truck will tell the news they are praying to an anthill
Dear readers will scoff and throw their hands up and proclaim
We knew it all along! Lunatics the whole lot a’them!
The boys around the man-mound-anthill will not cry in public
Violence has toughened them into men
Violence has killed their friend
They will cry later
After dinner when the sun sets over the field and they think they won’t be seen
Is it man’s nature to turn boys into mounds
To hide tears from friends
To smoke cigarettes by the dead
Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
The boy under the anthill
Under the raging sun
Under the cruel eye of god
Man’s nature to wonder
Ashes to ashes
Dust to deadweight

A small room
                       Austere
A sepia image
Retains a slender figure
                     In Silver frame

It rests
Upon a circular table
Where within fallen petals
A single barbed rose
Lays beside a Gillows chair
                   There is no vase

A newspaper
               Outdated
Placed with intent
On a chaise longue
Awaits a reply from
         An underlined entry
         That’s buried
         Within the lost and found