Death In Indigo Starlight


  Death In Indigo Starlight


Cold, lifeless
A moonless sky
The death of night
Boulders hurl
From the highest peaks
Starlight falls
Small flashlights
Echo death's moans
Riding through the cosmos
On fizzling comets
Cosmic dust trails
Blue and gray
Stars vanish
Die out, become extinct
Like an indigo moon
With nightmares
Of hellish proportions
I'm paralyzed-
Mummified by the
Blankets of terror
What demon
Will visit tonight
And claim me?
Princess of the dark
Beneath indigo starlight
I fade to black

 
  When The Soul Aches


Emptiness crowds my soul
and I collapse under
the burden of its strength
Another frown to show
I don't belong
in the den of family life
My soul bleeds the pain
from years of hunger
wanting to feel
instead I blindly stumble
from one mistake
to the next
With every thought hinged
on another impropriety
another phrase
said out of turn
My soul aches
to connect
I have a stream of love
to share
but this void forces
sorrow to my dreams
and my soul aches
with the hunger
to belong
Days Like These


Another meaningless day
in an otherwise
meaningless life
left empty, and
promises not kept
To be nothing
brought up as nothing
grieving for something
never possessed
And I am
accustomed to
being forgotten
a lonely, shabby
existence based
on air and
dashed hopes
a perpetual cycle
of deep harbored
sorrows of
feelings not expressed
Being invisible
for another lonely day
 
  Broken Vases


I always wanted to be
the pride of your life
and everything I did
every hobby I pursued
to follow you
only brought rebuke
It was absurd
to believe I had
your love
Every time I
picked up a vase
it fell out of my hands
and broke apart
I scurried
to pick up every piece
to profess it whole again
only for your love
I wanted you
to be proud of me
but nothing
measured up
only humiliation
and the pain
of inadequacy
Time and again
I fell short of your love
The wounds are deep
and I am the failure
Demonic Presence


Strangulation of the mind transpired
the love and pain merged as one
The demon seized, gripped my
emotions, my thoughts, again.
Despondency weighs me down,
as if I'd sink to the ocean floor.
I let this demonic presence rise,
take shape in my body to
rule the use of my mind.
How could I fall so far, to make
the same mistakes as my
yesteryears?
The darkness fills my every cell,
and I cannot accept the bright
light upon wakening.
I give in, I cannot fight to survive
anymore...
 
  Weeping Willow


Have you ever seen anything
as fancy as a weeping willow?
The billowy leaves weave a
tapestry of tales told through
the twisted branches. I see the
weeping willow, not a sad tree,
but a nurturing, loving
mother of the earth.
Their majestic foliage
protects from the heat and
shelters from the cold. As I lie
under the tree, I see the limbs
coiled in pain, and I wonder
the significance of my pain
staring back at me.
Have you ever seen anything so
enigmatic as a weeping willow tree?

Parallelograms


What is so important
about a slanted
geometric box?

The shortest distance
between two points is
the edge of sanity,
pain and memory drawn
in a neat line. I comply.

I stack my boxes
in perfect order,
then I realize these
are parallelograms
and can't be organized.

So I find confusion
scattered about these
acutely cornered caskets,
left to wonder about
the cataclysmic casements.

And my parallelograms
refuse to stack neatly.

 
 

Night Vision


The foreboding structures of my
yesteryear haunt my daydreams
-and I long to see in the dark

Reliving the same nightmare
doesn't prevent sleep,
it only perpetuates
-and I long to see in the dark

But sleeping on cloud-like
billows of smoke with
a cement blanket in hand
makes me dream of
fanciful geraniums
-and I long to see in the dark

I want to touch the flowers
of my night terrors, to feel
the razor sharp pain of ivy
and urns of emptiness
-and I long to see in the dark

The Vipers' Song


The pain has trapped me in
this pit of vipers. Snakes
squeeze the ligament
right off the bone.

Fangs come alive to gnash into
the fragile fruit of my skin.

And I stumble, crying, begging
for my punishment to end.

The vipers crawl through the
cortex, coiling themselves
around the lobes of my sphere
and the searing pain only worsens.

The grandness of life and breath
bring only torment to my
disintegrating body.

I try to wriggle free, but strength
left with the winds from the
last storm.

I am lying in a pit, and my
worst fear is true: I am
alive in my death.
 
  Still Life


In the great big
story of life

stands a girl
unbridled in sadness

bereft of clues
as to what just happened

So she sits in her room
all alone, comprehending

the stillness surrounding
her being

She only moves when asked
contemplating the

newness of every thought
and the place she

now resides
she doesn't remember

what happened
she has no answers

for her questioners
and yet she remains

a still life
Grain of Sand


You were the closest thing
to heaven for me

How silly and naive
I was to believe
in the notion of
idyllic, true love

When there is no
such thing but
a joke, a laugh
among buddies or
a burden to family

There isn't heaven
for us, just the pain
of a moonless night

And a grain of sand
or the ripples
in a pond
cannot reflect
love that's
been lost forever

 
  Darkness In My Tears


Paralyzed by terror
my mind runs rampant
across the musty corridors
and rat infested
basements of my soul.
Why didn't I have
the strength to say no?
How foolish I was
to lavish in your attention
when I should have
run the other way?
I can remember
like it was yesterday.
I can't escape
the pain of the past.
It attaches itself
to the psyche
like brine to a boat
and I am
oppressed forever.
Living stopped
so long ago
and in the darkness
I shed my tears.
Elegy For The Dead


When one word
evokes an image
of pain or thirst
greed or lust
And death is
merely a term
for indigenous
language laden
with depth
an obnoxious anathema
to rise with
the living
Poisons course
through the blood
of mortals
like so much clutter
filed in a cabinet
for no better purpose
than to serve as
records of life past
and no tomorrows
An epitaph
is written
but no goodbye
only a chronicle
of a nameless face
And the poison remains
 
  Music Box Dancers


Today I opened
a music box
and watched
the ballerina
spin her pirouette
a tiny, perfect
circle, then wondered
briefly at the significance
of spin, of the circle
The circumference of
the earth
its girth swallowed
in the mighty wide
universe of thought
The brevity of dawn
over the smooth
surface of the horizon
The birth of reason
and giant circles
scattered throughout
the sky
and the ballerina
dances, spins
on her axis
for as long as
the box is open

I'll Fly Away


Fear not, my loved ones
for chariot lined streets
part forth the procession
of my funereal exit

And though I go alone
my own way paved
with golden bricks
across the moors

I remain a guide
a star from above
glinting in the night

Though my body
and soul part ways
at the end, my love
stays with you, and
grows in your heart

My imprint, these words
leave indelible marks
on the souls of those
I touch, and I
wait for my loves

To join me where
follies end and new
life begins, where
pain knows nothing
and voices sing in harmony

Let go, please, I ask
make this transition easy
I need to be gone
Earthly pain is too
hard to bear

As I leave you
and the procession continues
rise above tears of sorrow
to the joy of contentment
As I fly away-
my soul, a new home

 
  Stained Glass


Shattered glasses
thrown hysterically
in the garbage,
broken.
Stained glass
windows, pure
reflections of
refracted light,
a shadow in the
sun, shows the
fractures and fissures
in the chapel
of my soul.
Splintered divisions
of pieces in
my psyche cannot
be rebuilt, for beauty
has passed me by.
And I remain a
fractured shadow
of my former self.
Razor's Edge


Emptiness burns a pathway
to my soul that leads to my
destruction. Daily the void
gets larger, harder to close.
I'm frightened, angry and alone.
And I can't live another minute
knowing I am nothing. Take
the blade's edge straight through
the dark corridors of my weakened,
paranoid mind. Help me leave this
misery behind. Self-mutilation,
destruction by one, breeds an ill
unthinkable. But it is there, and I
am suffering. I ask to stop the pain
of self reproach. The existence of my
being choked on empty promises of
love so long ago, and there is no
turning back. Let the river of the
razor's edge take me to eternal
damnation, my only relief from
the cruel taunts of my mind.
 
  Rivers Of Blood


I wanted to take my last bath.
I wanted to sever every lifeline,
but I couldn't. I couldn't cry
hard enough to try. My emotions
are hardened like little cinderblocks
coursing through my heart. I'm not
afraid of loss, every minute I breathe
is a loss of my strength. But I couldn't
cry. I wanted to vacation down the
rivers of my own blood. I couldn't
throw myself down the bowels of
hell far enough to cut the switch.
I didn't make the cut. I don't want
to relive any minute I spent.
I never made the cut.
In Harm's Way


Shame is a deep, dark,
foreboding structure
lie a tower that shelters
me from harm, but exposes
my wounds for its eternal joy
I've slipped once again
down its wicked path
sliding on broken glass
and the remnants of open hearts
How could I have stayed where
evil lurks in the shadows?
But yet, I did
and didn't know it
I was engulfed in a sea
of crashing waves and black holes
until out of the whale's belly
expelled whole but beaten
I emerged like a vermilion sunset
to see your light of day
I am in the shadow of the tower
for once shame attaches itself
it festers and is hard to extract
And shelter it is
for it deems me vulnerable
to the demon in cleric's collar
and yes, that is safe
because I have no reason
and no morality in question
I cried a thousand years
most unselfishly
perhaps for the first time
and felt deeply ashamed
but shame is an internal being
not the root of my tears
for shame cannot be measured
by external heartbreak
only by the slashes to the soul
So I bask in your love
and your quiet reprieve
damaged again
and a thousand more tears
will flow from my faint soul
 
  Purity In Liquid Shades Of Red


Another empty night passes
giving way to the break of day
Another stolen moment of passion
collides with dismissal
The sound waves from my
beating heart shatter glass
and I am cut, torn to
shreds as vats of calcified
liquid runs to the floor
I see the open wounds
of my heart fester, as it
blisters and pops to the
faint drumming of the
last remnants of blood
rushing through the vague
arteries of my conscious being
The throbs of my temple
disquiets the voices that
wonder if it is really me who is
spurned, or the passion of night
The Tale Weaver
(for someone special)



He spins his tales
with a spindle of charm
weaving words like
gold spun silk
spread over the paper
with his tools of fantasy
like precision cutlery
made of the finest silver
He casts spells
with his tales of darkness
peeking into my own soul
as an invited guest
He leaves the paper
with a touch of rain
and turns the world over
with paint and ink
The master
The tale weaver
The keeper of souls
 
  And The Rains Came


She scrubbed and scrubbed
and stripped layers of beauty
red rivulets of rain
cascaded down the drain
She stripped her layers of sense
and madness descended
from the sky
in red rivulets of rain
She saw the clouds
the impending storm
and rid herself
her wall of security
She misplaced childhood
and bore the never
ending cry of wind
With no ends to mean
and a graveyard of mistakes
She scrubbed and scrubbed
red rivulets of rain

The Crow And The Plague


One did die
and after that
so many more
corpses lined
cobblestone paths
and shallow graves
that once bore fruit
And the lone crow
riding high above
eviscerated lands
lonely for the musket
and the fist of the farmer

Graveyards awakened
one rose
and after that
so many more
To walk in
the shadow of the sun
to speak with
mumbled cries
and the crow
watched in horror
the land had come alive
to claim the dead
at last

 
  Passages


Secrets, books,
winding roads
clear thinking
foggy halls
Death the only passage
between right and wrong
heaven and hell
secrets and lies
Serpents wait
for no lies
only wanting to
consume the fruit
of my labors
from yesterdays
to tomorrows
Endless pathways
corridors of my mind
locked for no one's pleasure
except evil in the
highest order
Forest green meadows
and cliffside trails
other eternal roads
to light, or darkness
only through the lines
in the chest cavity
contain the truths
of my being
and the serpent waits
Tiger Lilys


I never liked tiger lilys.
My flowers were always
hugging the ground. And
tiger lilys are tall visages
of life that stood in my way,
so I removed them. Am I
a pox on the society of man
for killing tiger lilys, the ones
that reached my windows?
For darkness is close and life
is finished, I wonder should I
have kept those tiger lilys
Should they be thrown
atop my casket as it hugs
the earth? Only later to be
lowered into the city of death.
I see I want those tiger lilys
 
  Uncertainty


I cannot see you. We are
mired in a fog of uncertainty
and misunderstandings. I
am the one who shoulders
the blame, but I wonder if
it is really so. We've lost
the intimacy we shared so
long ago, before illness and
madness stepped in to
control me. I'd become
mad in the sense of
self worth, knowing I
don't deserve you anymore.
My desire is to be stripped
away, carried to the altar
not in wedding dress but
slippers for my death.
For the suffering will soon
end and I won't pity myself,
nor become prostrate with
grief over every attempt to
kill my spirit. But I do need
to see you, I need to know
you love me. For all the
uncertainty, the pain of
rebuke, know that I loved you.

The Bone Vault


My secrets loom
against the shadow
of pain, locked away
in the quiet places
in my mind.
I've shamed so many
in my thoughtless
deliberation of madness,
and I only regret what I
don't understand. If fire
were to consume me,
the bones of my soul
will linger in the ashes
of my existence. I'll
never be free, for my
demons run too close
to my skin, a sweater
in the heat of summer.
The only way to cope
with the enormous pain
of past shames is to
glaze them in a kiln
of remembrance,
something for me to
grasp. So they remain,
my past ills, in the bone
vault of my soul.
 
  The Poet's Diary


The poet who dreams is the
poet who writes. Words stream
easily from ink to paper,
leaving tracks across a new
snowfall. This poet, struggle
as she might, lifts the iron
veil from her face to reveal
her inner torment the world
left for folly. The poet can
no longer hide, for her pain
has become too much to live
this agonizing life she calls
her own. She doesn't beg, she
is long past that, but she
silently weeps as she stumbles
from night to day. She calls
to bear witness to her agony,
the fire in her legs, or the toxins
that sprint through her
remains. And she dreams, she
dreams of peace, wellness, or
to stay alive. But dreams are
visions we cling to in our slumber.

The Call To Fire


The pain engulfs my body in a
fiery blaze of self reproach.
The fires of hell look upon me
with amused pity. I call to
rid me of this evil, but no one
heeds. I am lost, forever b
bound by the chains of agony
attached to my soul. I fear I'll
never live, to breathe the pungent
odors of spring, or to walk along
the ocean. Hell has claimed
me, rocked me to the
steaming core of the earth
and I struggle to breathe.
I can no longer beg, the fire
has silenced me. I have only
my pain, and a pen to shred it.
Release me from this torment,
for I know I can't go on forever.
 
  Mummification


Stifled, suffocated
heat from the blood
of old wounds
long ago mummified
by the pain
of mortification
My body encased
with the bandages
of remorse
My soul locked
forever in this
tomb of shame
No way out
I can only hope
for redemption
at the hands
of my
withered mind
Transparent Evil


I appear transparent
to all but the demons
of the night and my
unwillingness to heal
regards me in contempt.
The night sky burns
bright with thoughts
of tomorrow, but yet
I don't see past yesterday.
The burden of my mind
playing tricks is too much
to bear. I've done so
forever but I am
weakening, leaning to
the call of untimely
demise. Should I think
my ills are evil, this I
don't know. I've become
transparent, a mere
whisper in the lives of
few. Those few will stand,
representing the evil that
lurked through my soul
and killed me swiftly with
the sword of disillusionment.
Transparency, then death,
my only mark upon this world.