I have written off that which is not known
Crashing into the earth…secrets come with the winds.
Dismissive pine needles of discourse…go, flow, go.
I choke on the ashes of the earth.
Soiled and turned and forgotten…
what is it that leave the belly of the beast that grows, grows and grows?
Perhaps a bitter forested pill which is embedded in plumes of snow.
To breathe or not to breathe.
The swaying maple, birch and alike,
And, I sit singing their refrain.
Ice caverns scrapping and scraping the back of my mind.
Respect a disillusion that I can no longer find.
How do I speak to trust…when whispers turn to face the screams.
Tell me, how is it the embedded with bedlam human claw marks…know where my faults have been?
I am just a faded albatross playing a clairvoyant…wrapped around a keeper’s neck.
Over and over. Under and under. Through and out. Nothing in doubt is what it seems.
Young, old, all spirits carry their own ashen crosses to the forehead of make believe.
Make believe in the air. Promises of graffitti etched in membranes of friends, long since gone.
Persons and their bundled parsonage chisel a tunnel from my ethical dreams.
This old house once knew my children This old house once knew my wife This old house was home and comfort As we fought the storms of life
A winter’s flower.
How do I disgrace thee. When you provide me with such symmetry. An all seasons charm.
How could I not seek but always see. And, though the footpath is slow to where you are. The earthen tones splendor like a distant star. Winter’s flower by Tree Farm Loop… take a left off Baptist Hill road. Near where the Shakers grow old.