Long into the twisted wood,
past the oak and branch and briar;
deep into the gath’ring dark,
past the circle of your fire.
Further than the distant stars,
twinkling beyond the sky;
deep into your very heart
where you hide behind your lies.
Past the heavens and the earth
and the realms of men and God;
you, who seek out happiness,
onward, onward must you trod.
She’s no stranger to the flame
and the way she says your name
sets your blood boiling inside
and makes you flush with pride.
And when she goes to dance,
it’s with simple elegance
and a touch of the grace
that hides behind her face.
I wandered through the market
again today…
My restless eyes perused,
not the worldly wares,
but the faces and the frames
of the people passing by
in search of someone
from a half-remembered dream.
“All of the tomorrows and yesterdays meld,
and rekindling of souls from
a tomorrow’s glance.
I caught your words
on the wind,
Your scent
on the breeze,
now all I need is the realization
of a strangers face.”
You’re in this city somewhere;
I can feel it…
I checked the park this morning
but I’ll investigate again.
Some strange restlessness
has afflicted me of late –
pushing, pushing, ever pushing,
ravenous for reprieve.
“Something draws me to the unfamiliar parts of the city,
where the lights are hidden in the trees,
the surrounding faces whisper,
the leaves fall from the trees of the park.
I’ve never known you,
I’ve never felt you,
Yet I know you’re here, somehow.
The familiar face in an unfamiliar dream,
you are the truths that sustain me.
If only I knew where you were.”
– this work in a collaboration with the lovely Violet-words, who wrote the quoted sections above.
Goddamn frustration
for all the words inside me
that have no outlet.
I just want to sleep
but I remain haunted by
a vivid nightmare
which followed me past the dawn,
despite all my defenses.
I’ve been beaten,
kicked around,
insulted,
embarrassed –
My pride still burns.
You grab life by the throat
and wring your hands,
squeezing out the last drops
before drinking your bitter tea.
The sweat on my brow
is the mark of my efforts
to forge a future
for myself, my family,
and all of those whom I love.
I listen to each creak and moan
of this aging body of mine,
its quiet metronome
slowly counting out the time.
“Tell me what to say,”
he pleads into the night sky.
And while the Gods weep,
the darkness only echoes,
requesting words of its own.
A (wise) man of two faces 