One sky above us,
one sun to warm us, one moon,
one world we all share.

Unseen angels guide
me toward untouched meadows
and vibrant hot springs.

Be at peace in the
still waters, floating like a
light soultraveler.

Huge white clouds float by
slowly, underneath the sun
that warms everyone.

Those were stormy days,
but, enchanted, we stayed out
beside the lightning.

Out there, there must be
some place better than this, more
safe and warm than home.

Brilliant colors streak
across the sky, reminding 
me what smiling's like.

Verdant forests bloom
on the other side, the loom
of all past futures.

You found me flightless,
nursed me back to health, though you
never let me leave.

A world opens up
in a moment as you pass
into my longing.

Drapes of fog surround
the nearly full moon, vibrant
white striking silver.

Stars shine like windows
into another world, one
of warm, endless light.

Stars shine at the heart
of life. A new day rises.
Meet it with a smile.

Sparkling from beyond,
a white light filters through the
unforgiving veil.

Tears don't always need
a reason. Sometimes, they're our
uninvited guests.

Slowly, the leaves will
turn as each night grows colder
than the one before.

The flame burns on. No
wind nor rainstorm can kill its
ever-loving light.

If the sun could speak,
would she complain about my
morning sleeps, alone?

This tranquil moment
in the shade beside the sun
could calm anyone.

A spark in the heart
brings warmth to the soul, freeing
once frozen aspects.

Blue and red – neither
feel like home. One day, either
may inter my bones.

Break free from every
chain; walk onward with the light
to reach brand new heights.

A blanket of clouds
above the setting sun warms
the low evening ground.

You kiss me with teeth,
a thousand nights ahead of
me, drinking my blood.

Blessed me to hear
the birds sing, to breathe the fresh
air, to feel the warmth.

Warm breeze caresses
my skin. Even in nighttime,
your smile shines so warm.

May we arise to
elevate our ways of life
to peace, love, and light.

The lonesome weeping
sky makes your absence felt once
more. Tears fill my eyes.

Another day passed,
another failure to grasp
the meaning of me.

Something more shines off
the water's edge – blissfully,
we dream til the end.

I was never taught
the proper way to want you – 
it seems I just do.

Before the downpour,
everyone thought it sweet and 
free of bitterness.

Blinding like the sun,
your light makes me someone, a
person, finally.

Drowning in a sea of noise,
the young traveler of souls
seeks kindness in the words of men
and refuge in the silent cove
where all things can begin again,
no matter now how young or old,
and each can speak in their own voice,
as has always been foretold.

Perhaps there I'll shed my disguise
and everyone will hear me sing,
free of heartless hecklers
and all the terror that they bring.
Adorned with matching necklaces
beneath the full moon, glistening,
together from this place we'll rise
and fulfill our gathering.

The sun had set.
Brilliant colors sparkled
in the fresh black sky,
commemorating the many years
through which our flag flew high.

Your eyes were oceans
I was lost in – 
mercifully, you never
let me drown.

The sound of celebration
filled the air – 
the crowd dispersed,
and you embraced me there.

That was all ten years ago.
I still remember your smile,
real and welcoming as ever,
pretty as the rarest flower
growing in the backwood meadows.

Shadows lurk in the 
corners where the light doesn't
touch, always looming.

Keep your eyes open
for those dreams that may come in,
welcome, but silent.

This season, thaw me
out, so that every frozen
part can move freely.

Even the longest
days are not long enough for
me. More sunlight, please.

I'll be in the light
of fireflies in summer
nights forevermore.

Childlike innocence
will return again, never
having truly left.

A weeping spring gives
way to a verdant summer,
when all eyes open.

Precious heat, so soft,
so fleeting, help me now to
enjoy this moment.

Life has come to be
tearing pieces out of me
I had come to need.

Keep the sacred flame
and the courage in your heart
will never die off.

Embrace the age as
it awakens you to new
knowledge, love, and peace.

Free to dream and leave
all fear behind, I wait for
the right time to strike.

Mist gathers around
the mountains, cloaking them in
thick gray mystery.

Summer thunder booms
across the forest, lightning
lighting up the night.

Beloved friend, come
to my side, my special one,
come light up my life.

Read me like a book
or all your open letters
will turn to ashes.

Silence sets the stage
for song and dance and mirth, her
luxurious works.

Take me to a place
where no one knows my name, where 
no one knows my face.

After tomorrow, 
it's warm weather, baby, with
bright sunlight, blue skies. 

Wide blue sky, an eye,
infinite, almost perfect,
the waters above.

Maybe we're the rain
pouring on the burning world,
a deluge of hope.

I am words or I
am nothing – splotches of ink, black
blood on white pages.

Caught on the glass door,
I stare in and long for the
light behind your eyes.

The sun may shine bright,
but a gray malaise inside
only grows and takes.

The smoke tastes sour, and 
the words are all unclean, or
so they seem to me.

Wash me off the wall
when I take my final fall.
That red stain is me.

Moisture fills the air 
and I am scared that the fog
will engulf all things.

Smoke rises as I
dissolve, a silent patient
left behind the door.

Fly like a vulture
over the dry desert ground,
now free and boundless.

Dance and sing and jubilate!
Precious nights come far too late,
wakeful as we are,
ascending to a higher state
where shackles and bindings alike
fall into the sea.

Jubilate with me
beyond all trace of fear,
united in our common bond
with all that we hold dear.

Tears of joy flood from our eyes,
struck by this gorgeous night.
We dance, still keeping precious time,
becoming never-ending light.

Powerful, we look down to see
no dreams are out of reach,
wakeful though we are,
emboldened from a deeper place
where everyone can dance together
untethered by all fear.

Waking up to a 
new day, when the sun is warm
and the snow is gone.

The wind chills my back
and warms my face, all at once, 
where its two hands touch.

Green grass comes out of
hiding, illuminated
by the sun's bright rays.

The cold has now long
overstayed its welcome, still
rabid and untamed.

California
breeze touched me, so serene, on
the soft, smooth, warm beach.

In another time,
when children played outside,
I was all alive.

Genius lies in graves,
under sewage, underground,
in basements and caves.

Living in the dream
where every door is open
restores our vision.

Leaves will grow upon
each branch, high and low, throughout 
this precious forest.

Deer tread the woods where
the setting sun caresses the 
mountains, gold on gray.

That winter stole so
much from us, so cold, so bleak,
and yet, still, we breathe.

If only the rain
would pour down strong enough to
wash us all away.

Dusk looms above as
nightmares of confinement still
assail and plague me.

The demons' grip on me has loosed,
leaving memories and scars
along the membrane of my heart
where their gnarled claws dug in.

My skin is pale, but thick,
after having shed it
as necessity demanded
to survive each coming season.

Silence is a blessing
after cacophonous monotony 
and monotone cacophony 
played around me so destructively.

Rest is quite compelling,
after victory, especially,
but the honey dripping on the journey
tastes sweeter with due effort.

Comfort waits out there somewhere
with starlight eyes and angel hair,
skin as fair as love is, raw,
exceptional to dare.

Even scared, I stay the course
toward a brighter world
where flowers bloom and moonlight smiles
down on every traveler.

With clear eyes, I see the wellspring
of every single dream,
fresh, clean water I can drink,
rejuvenating everything.

Words strung about the peach
do not make it more sweet.
No matter what one says,
the taste remains the same.

The taste remains so strong,
so sweet, so ripe, so raw.
This is in the peach's nature,
as a feature, not a flaw.

This is not a moral failure
by the peach, nor by its taster.
This is life, being itself,
through past, present, and future.

Words cannot deprive the fruit
of its succulent juice.
Thought cannot diminish
wonders of life such as this.

Thick clouds rush under
the full moon,
half dark and
half illuminated
for several merely fleeting moments
before the darkness swallows them.

Leftover snow
blankets the rocky hill,
melting down to thin white sheets,
carefully receding,
slowly revealing patches 
of grass this early spring.

One stream of wind
runs clean and warm,
the other damp and cold.
Both caress my skin
and I dance happily between
the two extremes.

Evening light glows soft
and blue all along the broad
mountain horizon.

Now, the sky waxes
gray, an assembly of clouds
expanding above.

Small flurries fall from
the overcast sky over
my head, moving still.

The air is wet with
mist and memories, snowflakes
dispersed, all unique.

A thick, warm haze comes
and engulfs the night – mistress
in her dark delight.

A dusting of snow
across the breasts of the Earth
shines white at nighttime.

The blue of midnight
lingers above the haze. I 
dream of brighter blues.

Shades of winter live
on, lodged in spring's deep recesses,
showed in silent snow.

A captive flies in
a terrible inertia
to nothing, nowhere.

Unforgiving cold
lingers all around me on
the high precipice. 

Take me to the place
where they scattered the fragments
of my precious mind.

Warmth returns with the
high sun at noon, when time seems
to sit still again.

Alone in the cold,
the snow blankets me
and the grass beneath my feet.
Am I alive,
or merely breathing?
Vitality shows its signs,
even as the green
lies deep in hiding.

Spring has come,
though the snowfall hasn't stopped.
The tears of some lost god
pour down from clouded heavens,
reminding us what was forgotten
in sparkling white on dark gray skies.

A bomb dropped
in the name of freedom
takes a hundred kids away
from loving parents,
peaceful households,
never again
to see the light of day.

A war hawk ignores
the pleas of the people,
peaceful by their every right,
all assembled in
stark opposition 
as more lives are
lost overnight.

Their loved ones assemble
in candlelight vigils,
mourning the murdered, again.
The proud ones all gather,
together at last,
to burn the idols 
of the West.

The tensions burn higher.
More innocents martyred
spell the case against war
with their blood,
and I still hold hope,
deep down in my heart,
that war one day gives way to love.

I blur through time,
a blemish on the face
of existence itself.

I am here, and now I'm gone,
flashing lights and ceiling fans
clipping in and out of love – 
I am a permanent stain
on the curtains of the Earth,
weeping all my blood.

Humor becomes me.
One last gasp of joy
before the instant passes, instantly.

Hot coffee in my 
hand, before it snows again – 
all routine I need.

I met you in a 
white room in a dream. You knew
of me already.

Something freezes the hand.
All this dross is said, but the
word remains silent.

The father comes home
after a long day's work, his
hands cold and calloused.

A touch of spring on
my hand teases me, her bralette
down and off her chest.

This winter, you know,
you will find me all alone,
in my snowglobe home.

The rope beckons forth
another victim, trembling
at death's edge again.

The next best thing will
never come. Still, you're running,
going nowhere fast.

Silhouetted trees
against the smoke gray sky show
beauty in the night.

I cherish every
silent moment, no matter
how brief and fleeting.

Melt the ice away
and let our new world breathe, to
take your sweet release.

Even the Wyrm of Worlds
cannot prevent this apocalypse.
All old gods lie impotent 
to all the coming changes.
Sun Speaker and Moon Sage alike
shall quiver in the wake of this,
for when such disparate worlds collide,
all old ways remain useless.

Calls to unify or die
shall ring across this sacred land,
shattered as the howlers cry
out on the desert sand.
Nine shall become one,
or all shall fall to ashes
never to be seen again,
should they be so heartless.

Drinking dream water
from a jagged glass,
the Duchess lies sparkling in the night,
floating in a moonlit pool.

Still and silent,
her grace is marked in providence.
Her skin is starlit pale
and her lips are shining scarlet.

Her eyes and her legs open worlds.
She keeps over them, quietly.
Her signs are lights of setting suns
and her sighs could move mountains,
give fresh water to the deserts,
and breathe to me new life.

Around her, green woods thrive.
She will never die,
for her gaze illuminates new ways
brightened softly by her smile.

The sweetest berries only imitate
her taste, enlivening 
the starving she shall not forsake.
We are more than alive in her wake.

Looking through the blinds,
trying to find some freedom
in this dying life.
Tears run black with sorrow.

Set me free tomorrow.
Show me what it means to fly
above this sea of madness
in the beautiful blue sky.

No longer shall the gray malaise
confine me in my skin,
obscuring all that I could be
and who I was and am.

To fly is the only way
to escape the grayness,
suffocating as it is – 
this flight will not be painless.

The sky weeps snow so silently
over the graveyard of dreams.
I return to this place
so that, I too, may weep.

Different colors, different creeds,
all buried the same.
Who is to say which of these
shadows are to blame?

This is the place where all lines blur
between the carnal and divine,
where every stone is a reminder
that all of us will die.

Deep within, there burns a fire
sparked by every setting sun.
Feel the heat of sweet desire
blazing inside everyone.

From this flame, new dreams are born
to live long after we have passed,
illuminating ways to come
and healing from our past.