A frightening thought during the midnight hour…
Something so beautiful as you, crying in desperation.
How can beauty be hit so hard?
Where had my fevered mind traveled?
The woods of ash and hemlock surround the bed dipped by morning dew…
made black and blue.
My illicit youth became a blackened mirror to the truth…
Fevered pitch ran from the pines asking not ‘what if.’
But is left to do.
For what it is worth
I see you when I climb the stairs a midst stark twilight.
Your dauntless task given unto an endless flight.
A vision of tolerance and safety.
Kindness and dignity.
A shimmering arc focused on what is here.
A dark side to what is not there.
Can you fix me?
Whiling the while…
cradling ‘of unknown origins’…above the street?
Rest assured I’ve cleaned hell.
It left me in a
‘poor me’ spell.
Days, months, years…
stuck in the glare.
Rummaging in the attic…
drunk and blind…
looking for a purpose, a meaning, maybe a sign.
Now, feral moon, as time becomes,
a whimper and a whim…
As life goes bump in the night…
as it often will.
The dark shadows, the bolted attic door, the childish folk lore’s…
beg the question, once more.
What is IT out there?
One step down from the top of the stair?
IT used to be the monsters sight unseen.
Sometimes, I know, as I do now,
IT is only in a dream.
A struggle lost within the silence.
All these worn walls.
My breathing short and small.
Gated rooms await the fall.
seems impractical and obscene.
the aura that surrounds me,
Gifts given from characters in dark dreams.
as they once seemed.
There are some who say,
‘To hold silence is to have hands of gold.
To hold it just a prophecy,’
they have not listened for what stillness is not.
I have heard the quiet when it is not wanted.
In quickness of the fallen snow.
Under limbs where shine is not bestowed.
In the calm of madness…
When no one is home.
Well we’re gonna have to sit down and think it right through If we’re only human what more can we do….. Sometimes We Cry