Past and Present

She held me up,

mirror to face,

goddess to god.

And I stammered,

not out of reflex,

but curiosity.

How the smoke filled the room,

mirror to mirror,

untied sneakers to red stiletto heels.

Our histories swirled

around darkened corners

reflecting back what once was

one night stands,

trips to the women's health clinic,

and roses on doorsteps.

Mirrors fracturing,

shards collecting on cold pavement floor

reforming into something,

something that was not meant to be,

not meant to become,

but did.

She shoved the mirror closer to my face,

transparent, I saw the goddess behind the frame,

yet it was not her, it was me,

and I reciprocated,

the white fog dancing around us

like freshly lit cigarettes.

My only thought was the dismay I saw

in the reflection staring back at me.

Unlike my own, her past and future

traveling down into my lungs.

I reached out but felt only cold glass,

tracing the lips of the angel

from my contemplations.

And as we both closed our eyes

it all disappeared.

Love is Dull

Love is dull;

blind as the brick

in my crumbling walls.

Your hair black;

black as the night,

pale skin and hazel eyes

sends comfort

down my tingling spine.

And I would waste my lupine plight

for you to find a way

to see the beauty in every day.

Our concious attempts

to find the good in repentance

leaves blank slates

and reciprocated hate

to a pallet that should not relate.

Easing in and out

of a violence that shouts

when all we want is the peace;

a peace that keeps us from this world

so bold and misunderstood,

and in the midst of sadness

grasp a piece

that silences us from the madness.

Beginning

I tiptoe around the casualty of your violence;

pray not wake the beast - pray let love live,

let sleep heal forebodings of yester-year.

Silence sows itself into a wild bed,

and I witness your chest rise and the fall of seasons,

head nod through a fantasy and come full circle

to a new world where eyelids part in ancient sadness

wearing the wounds of tiresome dreams.

I slink back to the selvage of wood connecting

two worlds to watch the huntress wake - give space,

and solitude to healing rain and look up

to see the pallet change. The dew glows around this shapen

figure and I am taut at means for an escape lest

I become new prey, fresh and meaty. The wind gusts around me

and her body stiffens to the scent - I take leave

to let love live, and let happenings heal

the heaviness of new footfalls.

Lost in the Sun

Memories resurface

like ducks on a pond - pitter-patter,

ripples scatter,

try to catch them with my net before shore.

Stop the engine, load my gun,

just one round then it's done.

Pull the starter - unleash the beast,

go get your trophey - it will be a feast.

Set the table, there's room for one,

lost all the ripples while on the run.

One round, one dog, one duck,

one gun, a hundred ripples

lost in the sun.

Running Away

Take me back to the time

of our first disclosure,

when poetry was simply words

strung together forming childlike tales

of hand-me-downs and days gone by;

when sentences were sterile and metaphors

lovely in their innocence.

Take me to the time of budding flowers,

when motivation was something to be sought after—

a time for living, heart-strung

on sleeveless t-shirts,

working the fields, and minimum wage.

Send me back to the place

where creativity was boundless

and stifled silence from gaunt tongues

did not yet exist;

a time of heartache and heart break,

whimsical fantasy lore

and creatures of comfort.

Usher me back to the place where I began,

a place of stainless pleasure,

when bike rides were just bike rides

and sex was naught yet found.

The place where abandonment was a lie

and the future still held all her stars in the sky.

Convalescence

Picture credited to rjinrhee

You silence me with deafening presence

and I would waste my romance on you

had I the will to step ahead.

These words are just casualty

to the gripping realism of pretense

and ignorance.

Neither side has passed their banter

onto a wasted soul, nor wet their lips

at the forthcoming of a guided kiss.

How can the venom sting

if it was there from the beginning?

Convoluted bodies reaching for an answer

where answers can not be given—

and actions become louder than words

when words have long lost their meaning.

When sentences become fragments

inside the twisting nether

of a poor lost boy.

And as the boy begins to collect

his lost remains, the worst parts of you

are just entertained.

Two Lives

Two hearts beating, two minds dreaming,

under severed skies lie two lives fleeting.

One stays north while one flies south,

connected they speak in unison

however far silent mouth to mouth.

Through oceans and storms the tidals

and quakes, their bond blossomed stronger

across the breadth of paths gently taken.

But distance and time was forever unkind

and their roots slowly were shaken.

A new face here and a new sight there

had ushered them to far off planes.

And experience would show

that it takes more than snow

to douse the heat from old flames.