There are poems of love I will now never finish

Singing nothings that are now nothingness.

You did this, you killed them, you stole out their flame

Now silence must pay back the debt of this pain.

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Beauty

What is a face but a gathering of bone?

Do not call me beautiful, do not name me your own

There is no meaning to the utterances you give

You grieve me with compliments, your endless digress

Instead-

Speak to the dark what you would speak to my flesh.

It cares more than I; and it judges you less.

water-walking

I wander through unknowns, shivering valleys and deeper lows

My dreams reflect the darkness new- but somehow light is shimmering too

I find myself awash in breath, a consolation in the land of death…

What waits beyond I do not know. A lonely hall dipping dark and low. I will not find what I expect-

But the Lion of Judah, prowling ahead.

Self inflicted

We sometimes want what will not help…

We seek the lights that will melt our hands

Fingers stretching to touch the gold;

Grasping flames not meant to hold…

We sometimes trust what is always wrong…

Freeing floods deeper than our souls,

Lamenting as we cannot float

Cries for mercy cut off by mill-stones

We trap ourselves then weep for home.

Real?

Not even sunlight can banish the storms

The tempest that turns all it touches to what I abhor

Tributes of gold that flow from the trees;

Touching the sky to flame, to beauty

Nevertheless, my eyes protest

I do not see light. I do not see grace

A simple drive and what do I find?

Woman and child, together outside

God, they’re in agony!

Holding what’s left, someone’s final breaths

They weep, clad in flesh…

A blink and a jolt, I shudder

Reality returns?

This is not a vigil.

Just chores. Elbows deep in a bag of mulch.