Locked Inside the Witches Ball

She no longer has the fire, She harbored her anger outside, among the pines She followed many roads to clear her mind, but always stumbled. She went back and forth and fought with all devils that met her. They coiled and kissed her, blinding her by the warmth of their arms and tongues that licked her. Once in an embrace, she realized that all that was hidden was in a child’s closet of self destructive behavior, So she put the knife away in a pot.

Stagnation

There is much beauty around but yet my eyes remain shut. Much confusion in the mind, muddled with the day to day This is what brings the artist down, the blinds of a horse that steers the cart each day Follow the carrot and continue to eat your oats. You are such a good girl with a smack on the flank by a stinging whip each day.

Girl Games

I use to play “He loves me, He loves me not” with a withered dandelion Watching the fuzzy parts zigzag into the sky, the tell all seer reaching an unknown destination, It might have landed in the field next to my house or the pool of water after a thunderstorm. I always thought that by some force of magic it would bring forth a merman, not by the sea or earth. But of a child’s imagination, trying to know what it is like to float through the stars. Waterhouse

Subtle Language

There is no language like that of singing The subtle notes of landings of each vibration that comfort me I have walked towards all fleeting moments of joy and when they pass I sing, When the days are lit but still covered with a light veil to remind me that all is not well I still hum through quiet tears.

In the morning after

In the morning after, Soft light disappears here in the cocoon is many that seek laughter. In this delicate mending of different threads, That folds and folds till no cloth is left. We write till no more words make sense, And in the burden of those heavy stories Makes the eyes of the children weep. We seek salvation in the pages of words that disappear in blank pulp and hard spines.

Journey

We heave and hull over the mountains, till our feet are sore and our bodies tell us we can’t carry on. But to the land of softness and gliding winds we must go. The rains push us forward and evaporates into our skin. Our minds are not weary of travel but filled with verse and song, Till our journey takes us into oblivion and utopia and the lands shine with crystal fire.

Love

There was a storm that rose from the mountains and produced a song that rivaled the sirens of the ocean. And in the ancient glitters of distant heavens, the angels sometimes bowed their head in astonishing defeat.

The End of Winter

 

Many pieces torn into shreds, year by year.
Fragile bits cracking gently but never mending.
To the core that binded never was.
We traveled at lightening speed and collided head first.
Shattering the rusty chains that should have been burned with the ashes scattered.

Trip Wire

The labyrinth of past souls are awakened
if only they could see the illusion from the fog

They writhe with ecstasy and vines dripping with sweet rain
They know only euphoria that is welcomed with open arms

And into the passing of grey comes the opening of the skies
The first drop of light that captures all that is real
and laughter that is left behind