One final snip

of the strings of memory

that connect me to you

free

 neglected 

   wings.

Forgive me now I have a chance,

I’ll leave to you this last address.

I hope to meet again in France.

I return to you as these years advance,

left only with a lingering ghost to caress.

Forgive me now I have a chance. 

We were destined for a lifelong dance, 

but collapsed stages withhold success.

I hope to meet again in France. 

The screened doors of a ruined romance

once mine, now to never possess.

Forgive me now I have a chance.

If you could spare but one glance.

To see you now, I won’t repress.

I hope to meet again in France.

At the Pont des Amours, in a trance

with only nature to witness me confess.

Forgive me now I have a chance.

I hope to meet again in France.

There was a raven at my door

And no —

He didn’t sing the song of death and lore.

He only wanted to know

why I’d spent so many years alone.

I thought myself too wise as I wrote,

ignoring that night creature’s woeful eyes.

The twilight was my escape 

and I’ve never cared to be on display,

But when I shut my companion’s door 

this echo blew through the air:

she only lives on paper thrones

and reigns but in her soul.

Rest,

Close your eyes

And blow your breath

It’s at night 

that you prowl.

Tonight,

I’ll be the vulture. 

If you’ve seen me here before 

Your mind is blind

Just like your ears 

To the shrieks

Who am I to you?

A faceless figure 

Dressed only 

For your wandering hands

13 looks the same as 31

To a man of your renown 

Do you remember them?

Do you remember her?

So many little waves on your shores

Dispersing in the sand

Or just another flower

Buried by the gravel

At the lion’s gate,

I stand,

unbridled.

Sacrifice seeks a source so

I will my hands

To quiver 

As I pour more liquor.

You swallow.

I move away.

Soon I’ll fly

To the shadows.

I’m not a fool 

To attack

One twice the size of me,

But that’s the beauty of poison.

The great equalizer 

But you’re just my appetizer.

My dreams are athirst

Ink is my booze of choice.

I’ll swallow the bitterness of its gift

Then be raised to eternity.

Bird poop

Splattered

Everywhere 

“This isn’t ideal”

“It’s real”

“Grab my hand,

Watch for the vents”

“Let me catch my breath”

I look at you, 

brown dress fluttering with the wind

the scarf round your head 

sliding slowly to your neck

Pale pink

I reach to you,

The plastic round our wrists meet

The heat of my hand cools 

with the touch of yours

“After, we’ll do all the tours”

Masked expression 

Your head sways

Eyes away

Our ringed fingers lace

You say,

“Let’s dance”

Blood ties cannot be broken

They can be stretched

Across distances traversing

The line of time

The past and present become intertwined

We are the fragments of our ancestors

Possessors of futures undefined

Brought to life in three trimesters

We remain shattered pieces

Spread across a dirt nostalgically yearned

Rivers of crimson mud

Hope is fleeting

Seemingly bleeding

Humanity’s violent storms

Create a world weathered by wars

Create a world of orphans and corpses

Battles can never be won if the prize is covered in blood

The victors stand upon an earth barren and burned

Victory dies when peace ceases

Their destiny is supposed to be ours

But can we turn from it –

a redesign?

Can we be too aware of our own observations

To be persuaded by historical expectations?

A new lost generation–

lost within itself.

A legacy yet etched

On mountains yet climbed

Upon which will you question

Your role in the line of succession

I’ve seen the whole world

Yet still I seek adventures

Somewhere deep – my soul