Every Page

I let the beast tear to shreds
the sheets of pure white on my bed.
The snow fell in tangent
and spilled through the attic
and froze like soft beads on my head.
And I dreamed that there were ghosts in his eyes
as conspicuous as the sun in rainy skies.
And they haunted some shadow
that filled the well until overflown
and the rims of his lids swelled as he cried.

I stole a glance from my book,
and pondered some thought that he took.
I forget what I knew
and forsake lowering my view,
I’m stolen by that sweet, broken look.
And I watched the sun flicker out
and the butterflies flittered around,
before a fleet to the sky
to become the stars in his eyes
with wings beating soft without sound.

And I saw a harp by the place
where the fire burned bright and erased
the things he threw in,
every nightmare, every dream,
every part of his past, every page.

The End

I spied a smile on the bay,
it broke and it spoke, and looked away.
I saw the eyes silver-blue
with flecks of sweet velvet and dew.
The green of the grass bled into the sky
and the world was repainted anew.

I feigned some sort of thought in my heart
even though the thought tore me apart.
The man in my arms
was long-lost from sweet charms
and this was my twenty-fifth start.

And another that I whispered away
I secreted myself to the page.
I floated on clouds
but fell through to the ground
when I couldn’t convince him to stay.

And I spied a hole in my soul
opening wider with every new blow,
every day he was gone,
I felt that lost and alone
and there was nothing new that I didn’t know.

And I followed no beaten path,
I’d lost what I had never had.
My heart and my life,
and I could have lied
to keep him away from my past.

And I woke in the morning just one more time
and saw his arms intertwined with mine.
Our home here before me,
a nightmare had plagued me
and scared me more than the end of my life.

I’ll go ahead and apologize for this now. My mind is frayed. I’m worrying myself over the last few days of school and I still have to get everything packed up to move out Thursday. It’s just taking a little bit of toll on my, so my writing my feel a little stunted for the next few days or so until I can finally relax again.

Wish Upon a Star

In morning’s dawn, across the sky,
a tiny light, no stranger to my eyes.
A silly-spun monopoly
of all the wishes denied to me.
And the chariots of silver veil
sputter behind a still-sun hail
where might a moment be built to last
that wishes are wished upon a broken past.

And stolen a kiss upon my lips
that mattered more than this.
As if this night is more than before,
but how could I wish for more?

I cannot fall to plea of heart; nor that which could give by no true star.

The Labyrinth

I confess that I am guilty,
I destroyed the sanctity
of what might have been—
a blanket of undisturbed snow
lay upon an open world
without walls or tempest;
without fear of burglary
that might steal some piece
of his soul.

All the same, this trial
is no less
than remedial.
The judge is absent,
my lawyer vanished, and a biased jury of my peers.
I have fallen victim to appraising stares
that otherwise might care.

Yes, I did step foot
into untrodden land.
I trespassed upon a volatile world
but I was not the first to try.
There were footsteps
too long before mine.

And they were harmful,
cleated and sharp.
They bore holes into the stone.
And seared burns into
the gravel they left,
sizzling like the sun.
They still smoldered long
after those villains had gone.

So tell me jury,
will you prosecute me
for following the footsteps
of those still gone unpunished?

And there were walls in this world,
this maze.
A labyrinth, if you will.
A thousand walls, ten-thousand more,
too many to burn through.
And some had tried,
there were prints of hands
scorched in each partition,
and etches and cracks and fissures
but the walls would not submit
into submission.

And I, in selfish curiosity,
took round in every wall,
finally found an entrance
on the farthest corner,
up the longest stair,
hidden by the brambles,
that no one even knew was there.
I cut myself upon the thorns,
but managed to heave the door,
and I disappeared into the labyrinth
with more determination than before.

There were poison barbs on every corner,
and it was not long until I grew weak.
I felt myself falling,
echoing a “hello?”
as I fell crashing to my knees.
But no one offered an answer,
not even a single sound.
And before my eyes had even closed,
I fell asleep on the unforgiving ground.

And when I woke,
I had not been cast,
I remained exactly where I was.
Does that not give you pause,
Or reason for my cause?

I was still there
by someone’s choice.
And alive,
without ailment.

And as I stood to walk again,
the poison barbs were gone.
Monsters of lesser class or will
fought in every dead end.
And I took a scar, or two, or three
from each,
and felt the pain that I meant to feel.
This labyrinth, by choice
or by force
would not mean to keep me here.

And demons of paths untaken
caught my arm with gilded claws.
And angels fled to darkness above
to forsake what I meant
to call my love,
that they would not save me,
they made it clear,
I was trapped with these demons.

And you, jury, would see it fit
to condemn me for this?

Because I fought them off
though I was not asked.
I killed the demons
of untaken paths.
I stole the charms
that the angels left
that I would present them as gifts
to him.
Should I ever find him in this maze.

And after the demons had turned to ash,
I lost myself again.
Every corner, every wall
every corridor,
every pitch-black fall,
I believed whole-heartedly that I would never
see again
that shimmering light
in the eyes of my friend.
But I searched all the same.

And the walls began
closing in on me.
No corridors were safe.
I ran, with feet that I could not believe
would take me as far
as fast as they did.

And I searched, and I pleaded,
and I ran, and I fell.
And I watched the walls closing in.

But surely, jury, you must know the end.
I could not die, for I am here.
So what should you care
to say to me? That I am wrong?
That I should not have been
in that maze to save my friend?

And yet all the same, upon the floor,
a sound went crashing of an opened door.
And a man ran to me, caught me in his arms,
and stole me to the center,
where the walls were closing,
the angels weren’t escaping,
the demons weren’t attacking,
the monsters weren’t fighting,
the poison barbs were absent,
and there was no entrance,
and there was no exit.
And he kept me for awhile.

And he told me that he loved me.
That he would not love so much
had I not come here.

And you could condemn a woman, jury,
who meant only
to fight for the man she loves?


Needles stand like the pikes on a fence, tidied into sweet little lines
and above them I stand on the pricks of their peaks as still as the statue I have been all night.

And caged not in bars but by sheets of frozen rain, tipped over the edge of the sky,
a thousand sheets, more, ten thousand more than before, of that cold and impenetrable ice.

And I have room to breath, to walk, run, and fight; without chain or shackles holding me down.
But the more that I speak, the more that I breathe, the faster the rain falls until I drown.

And the more that I dare, the farther I venture, the less certain that I am,
that in this shade of the avalanche above, I am safe where I stand.

I Do Not Regret

I wish not for just a moment
with that child of me,
with her hair tied up and a disguise of a smile
that would echo that whispery breeze of truth
that so eluded and so ill to believe.
And in that moment I would spill
the circumstance of every day to pass
and every moment that she would cry
and the fewer moments that she would laugh.
And I would ask a selfish plea to her
that she would dare not undertake,
I would ask her to keep that life she lives,
to remain every piece of the girl she is
and write her story the same way.

And that selfish child that I used to be
would refuse all that I’d ask.
She would demand every detail full and stolen
from what has been for me, would be for her,
our present and future past.
She, in every right of hers,
would change what she would do,
and everything I love and cherish
is everything that I would lose.
She would suffer no hell that I
have taken to bruise and scar.
That child of me, despite my plea,
would refuse everything we are.
She would take no lessons
and end with some other kiss
from some other love, from some other man
far differing of this.

I wish for never a moment
given to my past,
because I love this life that I have been given,
and I love this man I have.
And had I just one moment
with the child I have been,
I would lose what I love so
and what blessings I’ve been given.
I cannot regret the pain
that has since brought me here.
For this life I would have suffered all the more if needed,
and taken every tear.

Woven Tapestry

What tapestry on some crumbling wall
had that sad misfortune
to steal its threads from my repertoire
and weave into unsatisfaction.
And spill upon it blood and ink
of those that I’d forgotten,
and wipe away what stains I left
when I had still been broken?

And why should seamstress continue working
on an artwork solely done
and forsake that which she reprimanded herself
to walk dark the side of sun.
And weave ribbons of silver
into her once youthful hair,
why should she scar every finger
with needles that don’t care?

And then pass blind to some weak soul
as if I had some clue
how to rescue my small part of this world
with needle, thread, and rue.
And use that which enslaves my tender
heart beneath a womb
to believe that this sweet tapestry sanctuary
will someday become my tomb.

And the sun stops tanning pale, burned shoulders
and my face so gray beneath,
I fear that I shall meet this woman,
as sparsely as I believe.
And should I have that audacity
to believe that I cannot serve;
well what course shall Karma serve to me?
Something less than I deserve.

And should I stop weaving, stop spilling blood and ink
and erasing my own stains,
surely the beasts of otherworldly hells
will shoot poison through my veins.
But I have aged, as others in youth
have never in their time.
I’ve no ill will, no broken past,
so I replace those pains for mine.

I reweave every strand of hope,
recleanse every heart,
but when did I become this guardian
that is tearing me apart?

Burning the Shards

I swore,
beyond my hastened, stoic belief–
bereft that I might stand some motive
to mirror that girl I see in the glass
of silver, that she might someday be me.

I promised
that I would shatter every last piece
of every past insecurity,
that had stolen some sweet identity
that cursed ill into my name.

And I knew,
beyond doubt, or power too strong,
that I would not shatter my life.
The moments captured beneath glass and bone,
the scars I etched into piece of stone,
the names I carved, that guilt I own
that she is who I cannot be.

I swore,
that I would burn every last shard
silver, golden, or intangible.
That I would sever every stitch
that held me too close
to the things that I wish
I had never known.
Once, I was ignorant–and pure.

I promised,
that I could let it go.
That I could watch the flames and smile;
that this would disappear,
that nothing would remain of me
before him.
But everything remains.
It is who I am.

And I cannot vow
or tell tale true;
I’ll pretend I never knew.
As if, I never once stopped to care,
but that treacherous book of words
is still there
and as much as I do not want it to be,
those words were once what defined me.

He was not my life.

Thief of the Moon

I whispered soft to the night, and came upon a thief of the moon;
he had in his hands all his loot, each pink blossom that could bloom.
His fingers were bleeding and scarred, white stripes that had been there too long,
the seared teeth of the thorns and the burrs, and the shards of petals still hanging on.

The man held his hands out to me, asking what he could not say.
His eyes shone the moon and the stars, his lips formed the words, “don’t turn away.”
The streetlamp flickered above us, the crickets sang some sweet chirp,
the grasses whistled with the breeze, and the silence haunted some unspoken words.

I fell to my knees on the ground, took his broken hands into mine,
blew away every petal, plucked away every thorn, washed the blood away with red wine.
The blood and the wine seeped into the mud, and saturated the homes of the small.
The autumn spilled into the colorless leaves, and as days passed, they started to fall.

Snow whispered past, a moment in time, the theif’s eyes upon mine never left,
never blinked, never cried, never betrayed but a word, and slowly once more turned to theft.
Slowly my heart faultered, slowly it rose, I lost sight of where it might be,
and behind rosy glasses, I never noticed the binds, or the cuffs on my wrists keeping me.

I watched helpless as he stole my heart, took from my chest still beating strong,
it pulsed in his hands, soft, fragile, and glass, but tainted with undue and unforetellable wrongs.
The flesh walls fell to bricks on the ground, leaving it vulnerable.
Beneath walls, beneath brick, behind the bone of my ribs, a blossom so small, so beautiful.

I reached for the bloom with my hands, grasped soft and gentle but came back empty,
the thief staked my shackles in stones that hadn’t been there before, and held my heart too far from me.
His eyes flashed some chronic alleviation, of some poison that slowed in his veins.
His scars healed as if cured, his voice whispered some relief, and the blood disappeared from his stains.

But above us the rains had come soft, too soft to hear beyond settled mists.
The dam had run full, streams slid down the edges; there would be no surviving through this.
The levies cracked and broke down, shards of stones fell to muck and the river flowed out.
The flood scoured every nook, caught every last soul, caught us last, and spilled over our mouths.

I closed my eyes and dreamed of some other place, far and away of this sea.
The thief caught my lips, and placed on them this kiss that scattered and disoriented me.
I opened my eyes, frightened and confused, caught him staring into my eyes, the thief.
I opened my mouth to say anything and choked bubbles of rainbow when I noticed I could breathe.

My shackles and chains disappeared, my heart glowed this golden aura,
of every other heart and soul, tainted by ills too sour and unkind, I’d survived some new Sodom and Gommorah.
The thief told me that love made one pure, that seasons had passed with me remaining here,
that in my happens to stay, my actions had sold my heart, that I loved the thief, that much was clear.

That perhaps it was not such a crime, to steal blossom of heart behind wall,
that I had held no resistance, ’twas no thievery, if I had already forgiven this fall.
That he had his right to my heart, only for him had it bloomed,
the other buds came with thorns, but mine not a one, and that I loved my thief of the moon.

Beauty Chained by Beast

We stand on some corner somewhere,
the aroma of your spells in the air.
The mist settles upon stones,
every evening, every morn’
and the phantoms continue to stare.

Your hand is in mine and I dream
fantastical, miraculous things.
What God has my favor
that I might have that which I savor?
What karma has misplaced its laced seams?
That life in my heart blooms and spills,
but my fear wells and burns that I’ll wilt.
I feel as I if am that woman
too privileged.
I am chained in this silvery silt.

I fear more than death a repeal,
that I’ll lose what I’ve had this past year.
A whispery veil
fell as sharply as hail
guiding views rosy blue of so dear.

I hold his hand in a grasp
reliving every moment thrice before it’s past.
A prince on his steed, and I am but lesser breed.
Little more than a maid of outcast.
The beauty held chained by a beast,
or girl scarred by scalpel, at least.
He cannot see
that girl others know of me,
but I see what I must in this sea.

I temper no blade to shimmer bright
that he may not see mirror in respite.
I fear I may never be
that woman he sees in me.
Just some rose born of shadow rather than light.