Among pale linens
My dreams lay to die
Hoping you'll come to call
One last time,
But one time to last
We know a lie
As warm waning dawns
Fade into the night.      

A sweet southern wind
Brushes my face
Painting playful blues
Between the clouds
And we linger, tenderly
While awaiting a bitter winter relapse
To dash aside
Our small happiness.  

Last Breath (Haiku)

Behind the drawn veil

A waxen flame shutters its'

Last breath, happiness.  

Don't believe your sweat is enough
Don't perceive your strength as the cross
But only on bent knee
Humbly at His feet
Can you, will you be set free.

I will make your suffering my own
And take your hopelessness with me, home,
I will carry your desperation through my dreams
And I will choose to understand your fears
Because I too have wept--
I labor bedside tearfully into the night
Because I too know of death and ashes
And the redemption of Jesus's saving grace
As it washes over all transgressions.    

In your arms
I am alone
In your bed
I am cold
In your eyes
I am hidden
Hand in hand
I am distant.

If I tell myself
"The joy of the lord is my strength"
Enough times will it become true?
If I tell myself
"All I want is your will"
Will my heart change?
When I wake every morning
Spinning out of control
Will you guide me?

I dread the moment 

When I meet myself 

And can't recognize 

Those hollow eyes,

Staring, glazed over with pain

And fear,

I hate mirrors--

The remembrance 

Of what I once was

And the revelation

Of what I've become,

Of the emptiness, 

Of what I've lost.  

Let's lay among the

Fields of wheat

Soaked with midnight starlight

And plunge the depths
Of each other's passions
Til' dawn do us part.  

Is there a word that can describe

Alone?

I'm on my knees

Striving, wishing someone 

Could touch me

Hoping that you

Will see me

But again I'm met

With an empty room

Silently screaming--

My life

My prison.  

 

My eyes, shadow lands lost amid wasted

Days, midnight's lit waning wax
Burns in sweet
Abandon til' life no longer tasted.  

In your arms
I am alone
In your bed
I am cold
In your eyes
I am hidden
Hand in hand
I am distant.

Mother of Nations (Sonnet, Edit #1)

Consecrate your seed, Moloch's tongue is dry,

Mother's cardinal hands fold at his throne,

Does not the dust which God breathed to life cry?

Or do their convulsions speak tongues unknown? 

Silenced voices chorus justice for deeds
As rose trickles down lust's tabernacles,
Unnoticed lamentations my heart heeds,
Womb beneath the knife, babe naught but shackles,
Can you climb to salvation on dry bones?
Will you realize the prince branded you "slave"?  
You whet his lips and tempted him with moans
But no man can slip err's eternal grave,
He who died vengeful fire will descend,
Drunk on blood Babylon wails, at their end.    

Those Who Have Slipped Away (Part Two Edit #1)

Home, it's not what is once was.

But really, what is a "home"?  A semi-coordinated conglomeration of items spreading the counters, floors, walk ways?  A possibly planned array of cushioned comforts outlying and consuming the emptiness called "rooms"?

Or, is home a symbol?  Individuals possessing an area otherwise later known as a "home".  If the air wasn't hung with warm breath, coffee tables unstressed from restful feet and twenty four shoes sleeping on the step, what would it be?

My hand falls through empty air
Missing something it needs,
Another palm to squeeze.
Something to grasp
Another hand to please.   

Lost Among the Many (Edit #2)

She lies upon a smooth careless table, lost amidst the wan cascading linen folds.  My hand wanders among the alabaster locks seeking comfort in her late embrace, but finds naught.  

She whispers in broken rasps, a prisoner strangled from within.

"Who...?"

Again she gasps past her pale waning lips, the sound of sand rushing over skin.

Could I feign disregard and ignorance, restfully acquiescing to the pull of time?

"The pull of time" I thought, such a gentle phrase.

My mind poses innocent thoughts guised as hope, wolves waiting at the door.  I terrify myself, I'm capable of that? 

Every want, every selfish fiber sown and intertwined with who I am, tears against what I know is right.  

But, can I yet again draw up sufficient strength to confess who we are?  Who we were?  Today, in this moment, could I again spit acid truth into her face and allow the toll be taken?

If I survive today, what of tomorrow, and tomorrow's inevitable arrival?               

A faint procession ushers out the warmth from under her tender beige skin, utterances of beauty lingering behind grey curtains, fluttering nearly unnoticeably.

As once one, now disavowed -- despite all my striving, innocence inevitably spites every bead of sweat birthed by hope.

At the hands of my emotions, sweat beads, gather and roll across and down my face. The unsettling silence announces my strain, dripping and puddling onto the laminate tiles.    

Jogged back, my lips thinning, running along them an unnoticeable quiver.      

"Paul?"  

"I--, I'm."

Bruised shadows wrap around her hands, once whole but now reduced, former joys lost.

My palpitating heart wildly rises in my throat, binding fistfuls of knotted muscle, set to burning.  I silently scream, my hands quaking, struggling, chained by futility.  I'm nothing but a witness to her molestation.