Hue la rouge
Her colour is red,
a rose with no need for thorns,
she blushes with joy.
Page 56 of 94
Grace
She addresses the crowd,
not from behind a porcelain mask
locked in an eternal smile,
but with a weathered face,
hard and scarred by the world.
Her smile is her own.
Heat
Summertime romance –
a flirt, fling, or anything
hot under the sun.
Ship shape
Storms try to shake me
but though I seem made of wood,
my frame is iron.
Charging toward the sky
Part the clouds,
divide the heaves,
and raise the ceiling
of the sky.
Double edge
Thunder in my head
which pains me even while it
sets my heart ablaze.
Hero
Crying…
She is crying…
She is crying, alone…
She is crying, waiting for me…
Stand up!
Shatter the chains holding you back!
Go running out the door!
She is waiting!
For me.
Anxiety
A voiceless terror
leaves me trembling on my knees
feeling impotent.
The soundless
I hear their song but
there’s no music in my heart –
the notes don’t reach me.
Traitor
I greet you as kin,
though blood can’t begin
to run nearly as deep
nor climb nearly as steep
as my mountain of sins.
A (wise) man of two faces 