In the Deep

I have been anesthetized by the deep,
like you, and here under a starless sky
I've found a home: a place absent of light
where I can sleep.  No doves rest on
the crest of solemn gates I seek to greet
with unquiet praise - instead the wretched
soulless wraiths have gathered round
with hauteur flavor: a fitting station
for those in limbo of His grace.

Cold as winter's breath are the hearts
of those behind these gates and their shivers
are enough to shake both worlds which men
consider to be night or day. But the words
He whispers still echo in this hallowed land—
so much, it's strange, the lending of a foreign hand.

Dreams

Dreams rarely come at night.
Fight for them in waking hours,
burden comes during light.

So sudden the mind shifts its pose,
claiming all powers—
during night the mind forgoes.

An arm around her slips;
circles, swarms, and forlorn—
aches for pressure of hips.

They'll wait for midnight hours;
for the presence of her lips.