Don’t Read the Past

I should read your last letter again

to unlock the gates and comprehend.

It’s been hell to know letting go

is the only way to save my soul.

I couldn’t ignore you if I tried.

Memories are weight that can mean too much

as we fall victim to faces we touch.

This love is scorned like a woman,

and hell hath no fury 

like the insidious nature

of violin sweet memories

that became the paradigm

of fire lilies and treachery. 

My good intentions were poisoned,

caught in the tendrils of temptation

deep in the clutches of a mastermind.

The trees have been changing,

hues of my life again rearranging...

It’s all I can do to keep moving on,

I pray like hell to the statue of capture.

Wanderlust and drinking with strangers

can not distract me from your rapture.

Rough Draft

A wander-lusting peace
beseeches sea glass collected on shores of solace.
I find myself soaring
on the backs of these silver winged doves.
Shake me like a freight train
and break my plate glass skin.
I brush off the dust of an alternate reality,
where’s love’s tumescent course can be promised
not just meaninglessly predicted.

It’s a lost place that never should have existed.
It’s a message in a bottle,
glass contained and lost at sea.
The iron eye in my mind
it sees the glaring truth
and ruthlessly calculates
as it becomes undone and unravelled.
The sky flinches not at the stones we throw.

Look back with the hindsight of your eyes
and not the tender of your spirit.
Life here and now is the rough draft;
be the beauty and the savage beast.
The sweetest air’s outside ourselves
and forgiveness starts in the blood;
don’t rip your own heart.
Brechen Sie nicht Ihr eigenes Inneres.

Whispers

The whispers are now hunting,

bear into me the night is cold.

I'm the fallen cast down from Heaven;

an archangel only you can hold.

In the ink of tattoos

I search for you,

behind every curtain

beneath every pew.

Tapping in time with the rain,

giving up the ghost and remains.

I can't save you from yourself

but I'd crawl through glass to taste your health.

Rockets shoot across the sky

we no longer wonder why;

what we entertain behind the scenes

is what makes the madman scream.

The whispers are now hungry,

frost kisses every blade of grass.

my names are many and one in the same,

all you have to do is ask.

Worth the While

There are points of redefinition,
and times to cling to the very fiber
that holds your soul together;
the bear fiber of who we are.
Know thyself.
Don't rip your heart.
I am a fucking riot
a phoenix that jack knifes mid-flight.
We all know where good intentions lead,
but sometimes the moments travelled
make the whole story worth it.

I want to fly away through the haze
one day upon the griffin with the midnight wings.
I slide into cobalt,
swan dive deep through the crimson velvet
and sew an evening gown of halos and clover.
I then slip into a tuxedo
and go dancing all night with the moonlight skyline
as ivory doves sing satin songs.
It's those serenades that made it worth the while.

The Fallen Angel and Phoenix

So this is about a time and place that resonates in me
from the fibers of my soul,
and has yet to still happen.
It's a story of solar systems, 
murmuring photographs,
ink,
scars,
highway milage,
overturned empty bottles,
purple sunrise,
echoing kisses that whisper "follow",
fallen angels,
and conspiring demons of fate.

It's a poet's humble testimony 
and the phoenix's song of passion and rage.
Being baptized by that great love,
like I have,
is something beyond a lifetime
but transcends volumes of history
and centuries of the tempest.

"I can only hope tiger still watches from her night into the lifeblood of my words."

Union

Calmly caressing the night tigers mane, I fill myself with the breath of the stars. You once told me of how we were must be ardently slow and with caution but desperate wanting took us over like a goddamn hurricane. I understand now. We reached out to each other, but only brushed fingertips as the star crossed tides ripped us away to ensure survival. A heart can't live without the body nor the body without the heart... And there are times and places beyond this life we are destined to relish in the elation of the union of our souls.

Moon Hanger

You hung the moon

in slivers circling my eyes,

I close them to feel

your descending breath on my cheek,

as you tumble through the dark

burdened by heavy wings.

You, my private Mercury,

smother me in eloquence

as I rest in the lunacy of us.