the detour

11:39 PM

I walked among the tombs tonight,
Just for a change, to wend my way,
And on each grave shone fairy lights
Lit from the sunbeams of the day.

I chose a path not often walked
To test my surety of step,
And hide my face from human talk
And cloak the human tears I wept.

The night wind called my name aloud.
Absent voices cried a warning.
I was alone amidst the crowd,
My heart within a burial shroud.
Yet purpose clear, and spirit proud,
I pressed onward, towards the morning.


brave enough

11:54 PM

I have the courage to fight the war,
and I know the words to call the butterflies.

I've got stamina, and I will follow the golden tail of a meteor
Until it plummets into the sea.
I can hold the breath in my lungs until I reach the ocean floor.

My words are smooth.
I have reasoned with the mermaids,
the silver creatures who drown the souls of men
 and leave their bodies to rise again to the surface.

My heart is strong,
but soft enough to sense the murmuring of the white stags,
and my feet are swift to follow.

The woods no longer call me the way they used to,
and the mountains have grown silent.
My footsteps no longer echo,
and my shadow has returned to its home.

My foes surround me,
waiting to claim my being.

All is silence.
Much has been lost.

Why must there always be dragons?

I am brave enough.

Writer's Brain

words written in a coffee shop, a year and a month ago

3:20 PM

There is a dragon, fighting a mother-of-pearl unicorn, outside my bedroom window. The trees groan, trying to bear the weight of the brawl. The leaves flutter to the ground, quickly forgotten consequences of the war above.

The dragon breathes fire and its claws are silver with unicorn blood. Yet its foe is unharmed, the unicorn horn glistening like the trophy of a battle already won.

I cannot choose sides, for that would be to make an enemy of myself. I am both adversaries, and it is myself who wars.

Reason, like a dragon of fury, quick to draw blood and destroy, is after the unicorn of my dreams, a thing of beauty that is not meant for battle. But it is armed with a weapon sharper than glass, able to pierce the heart of logic at the slightest provocation.

They battle today and they will battle tomorrow. And all I can do is watch, and mourn, and celebrate both the victor and the vanquished. I know that neither will ever win, but that they will war, on and on, until the creases around my mouth have deepened, and the wrinkles hide my eyes, and I am crowned with immortality.

It is a losing battle, and yet I am the victor.



11:42 PM

that fly from fingertips
so easily sent into the world
without fear of regret
until I do

held captive in the silence of fear
lips sealed shut
the moment passed by
the deepest longing denied

that could break the spell 
if only allowed
and release my pounding heart from prison
just by the saying

Why must one rise on one's own two feet in order to stand?
Cannot I just say the words and be set free?



12:46 AM

I'm in love with a ghost.

The ghost of a past I never knew, and a summer we never spent together.

When we never held each other tight in the tall grass,
and watched the clouds above our heads.
When you never kissed my lips until they bled,
and held my hand until our fingers caught flame.
When the wind never whipped my hair out the window of your Chevrolet,
and the sun never burned the skin upon my bare shoulders.
When your eyes never smiled,
and your laughter never filled the four walls of my bedroom.

And my heart never beat faster than yours.

And I never loved.
And I never lived.
And the ghosts never haunted me.


An old poem on a day of new snow...

11:27 AM

The snow fell while I slept,
Caressed the pane,
Cried my name
With tiny flakes of winter's flame
And through the fissures crept.

The snow fell while I slept,
And yet unseen
It met each dream
And painted it a frosty scene
As down the blizzard swept.

The snow fell while I slept.
The world bathed white
Through all the night
And blinded eyes by morning light
In wafting, wondrous depth.


The Angel On My Doorstep

12:25 AM

There is an angel on my doorstep;
Bare feet in newly fallen snow;
Eyes, grey like storm clouds, dark rimmed with sleeplessness.
Hands warm despite their paleness,
Holding my heart,
And I can hear the sounds of violins.

My daily visitor,
Brief but regular,
Until I could not imagine each morning without her.
There is a comfort in sameness, even if it is imagined.
Celestial beings can touch the souls of mortals,
But they must pay the highest price.

Sudden vacancy.
As if the love of humankind was too much.
I did not mean to drive her away.
If she only knew the emptiness,
Without the burning of her fingertips.

I am aged.
This is the last of my mornings.
The angel's empty footprints are on my doorstep,
Perfect in the mound of white.
The human heart beats warmer one final time.
The violins start to play.