The lonely night calls out
but none can hear her cries.
Try as she might, her doubts
turn all her truths to lies.
See beyond the purple cliffs,
we respond with fitful fits
flitting like bees to nest.
She belongs where she admits
she sang her song, and myth acquits,
committing peace to rest…
My grey eyes gaze at grey skies
I realize it was all lies.
No one’s wise when faced with truth,
omnipotence of youth
melts like an ice cream cone on a summer’s day
and all I can say is I’m sorry…
Stained glass-prismed light framed her angelic splendor,
her hauntingly enchanting eyes gazed unfazed into the distance,
never for a moment even an acknowledgement of my existence,
yet to the briefest touch of her ivory skin, my soul I’d gladly surrender.
A million heartbeats ago we two first found each other,
we created our own universe bursting with unspeakable joy,
it lasted but for a single breath, my dream ended as she strode away,
now, in frozen silence, I hold my peace, as my beloved weds another…
Electric explosion.
Fantastic rainbows raining down from on high.
Like a beggar stealing an apple pie from a window sill,
still shrilly shreiking,
scheming, screaming,
no, speaking softly;
a paranoid shoulder-peek from lofty
unloving pupils creak
as bloodshot eyes lurch,
searching for escape when none exists…
Toe-tapping,
soul-grabbing
soliloquy of perjury
clouding consciousness of conscience.
Why are we here?
Lies turn to tears.
“Follow me.”
Where are we going?
There is no knowing.
“Wait and see.”
Like a lost lamb I look around but no one’s there…
Downstairs death stares
electrodes fry her temples
Dr. Freeman taps the ice pick.
Lightning strikes temples of gods long dead
cottontail rabbit diligently digging his hole.
Downstairs death stares
like lilies of the field
scorched by the late summer sun
the Son commends His spirit
neath the cheering of the bloodthirsty throng.
Downstairs death stares
waves of horsemen and archers under one flag exact revenge on waves of horsemen and archers under another
all ignoring the nagging truth:
If compassion be honest, no sin remains.
Downstairs death stares
but what about up above?
With a vacant stare He looks down there
like a puzzled mechanic under a hood
and God saw that it was good…
What had this furious one won through mischievous deeds?
Solace.
A soliloquy of sorrow, borrowed blue, an intense void.
She appeared on a whim on a moonless night.
If
only
I’d
known
her.
Her hair, golden silk, shielding saddened eyes.
Trembling voice,
trembling hand.
It was just an act; no impending fate.
Once the tears and blood had dried
I tried to understand.
But by then, borrowed blue, it was much too late…
a little bit of everything else 