Tag Archives: poetry


13 Mar


Feathers rustle as dust settles…

Snowflakes in a silent desert are… different.

These fall black.


There was a Holocaust here.

Who dare speak of the suffering?


Hair mirroring the very flames inside her.

whispers of “A Girl on Fire,”

Burned at the stake,

a spiritual pyre.


They knew.

she’d seen evil glow,

burning inside the Devil’s eyes.

She was the One

who’d dare glimpse the deepest dark.


a body consumed in the fire,

torched in torture.

Her heart: self-scalded.

Sea of Shame sizzling in the sea of flames

until the excess enkindled, the surplus seared down to skeleton.


Even bared bones

Don’t make it through the Crematorium.


Now, a scattering of ashes,

wind carries away Pastness.


And just as it seems

her Spirit rests beneath the dying embers:

a spark.


The Phoenix rises again…


27 Oct

Every morning

I watch the dark



moving into light.

I’ll be soaking in the sunrise

for the rest

of my


Every evening

I look up at the

dark night sky,

and watch

ever so gratefully

it sparkle for all of us.

I’ll be counting the stars

for the rest

of my


Every moment

I feel the rhythm,

the breath,

the pulse

seeping through my skin.

It is the heart

that keeps

the life. It is the life

that keeps the heart.

I’ll be dancing.

For the rest 

of my 


[fore]Shadows of Time

8 Jun
What was... was:
(beautiful, comfort, softness, happiness)
but I wish I could have known.

Time, now screams violently,
when it used to whisper softly.
The morning, almost nonexistent,
but I remember when it lingered.
Life changed to a rough road,
rather than just a few patches.

There is no time to go back now.
Only carry on with what is.

And what is is loneliness,
the ache of the loss, 
the miss{understand}ing,
the regret, the wish to forget.

 I remember what was,
but still walk away,
with hope for what will be.


11 May
She stands in the light.
My fingers are outstretched towards her
Stretching, straining, so close...
But she is beyond my reach,
Basking in the sunlight
with bliss written upon her face.

He stands in the dark.
My feet are itching to run from him
fleeing, flying, far away...
But he will surely follow me,
Creeping in the shadows,
with thirst etched on his face.

She will never escape him,
bound by invisible shackles to the Past.
He will never relent,
gripped by the desire of the Now.

He is the Disgust, the Disgrace, and the Dishonor,
the Guilt and the Gross,
the Wicked, and Worthless, and Wrong.

He is the Anxiety, the Anguish, and the Ache,
the Scandal and the Stigma,
the Torment, and Torture, and Trash.

He is the Heartache, the Humiliation, and the Hurt,
the Blackness and the Blueness,
the Pollution, and Putdowns, and Pain.
He is the Shame.

And She is... 


These Eyes

18 Apr
 Life always begins,
  with eyes firmly shut.
Unaware and innocent.
 Later, there will be no Blink.
No momentary relief.
Eyes should open slowly,
  awakening gently.
Allowing time to grow.
 to form The Necessary-
The Protective Film.
But sometimes,
  the lids are peeled back.
Awakened rudely,
 before the time to rise.
These Eyes of Mine.
And all the [un]fortunate ones,
  do not have the shield
of seeing and wanting
   only the surface.
The Cloudy Vision. 
 No, We see beyond the charade,
  and past the Illusion.
Further and deeper,
  until the suffering is blinding.
And The Pain becomes Ours.
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