Life’s Disease

He is standing there
On the edge of my vision
With mine eyes in his eyes,
My body the body of his hands.
In a clean forget he will
Soon take up his life and walk.

He cloaks my essence
In a delicate wild thing
That speaks for me when my
Words escape into a watchful sky;
Where stones disappear
Into a silken sphere.

Torn in a prideful burn
He preys tiredly, and weak
Until the rains rain drowns
Us both in a mindful sorrow;
Until we break and cry
Into the looming moon.

Years Long Past

My head rested heavy
On a tired window pane.
Its peeling paint caught in my hair
As I watched the storm
Invade the street, silently;
The darkness defeating any value
It holds in daylight.
Beads of rain trail one another down,
Down the glass gathering its body
Into a substantial drop
That dives into the shadows below.
Falling deep into the bliss of this seasonal pour,
My mind grows numb as my eyes trail
Silkened threads of water;
Tapestries of Atlantis’s.
The sky looked far too small
To cry such a rain.

Face of a Fate

In the midst of a Chinook wind,
A dire reminder of a Northern January,
A gentleman strolls
down an exhausted street.
Drawing his cold hands
To his bristled head,
Combing the brittle hair
Through wheat thin fingers,
He then stops.
Glancing at clod on the sidewalk,
Appearing to be his unshed tears,
He takes a deep, veiled breath.
Keeping his distance from a place
Where all is too real, too human;
A land that assigns morality
By his own position in dreary time.
Once again, staring ahead down the road
The concrete softens with the heather sky.
Walking this clotted road
Whose cracks and wrinkles
Resembles the hope of his firmament
Makes him forget,
So he continues.