Sunday, August 28, 2011


the empty streets are a beauty to behold.
the morning light in the ally, sternly observed, gives loose a puff of dust from the morning wind.
reaching the eyes around the shoulder to spy the rising sun.

the man looks towards his open hand, releasing dreams into the palm.
closing his fist,
gazing upwards and around,
 all emptiness surrounds him.

a will to go on rises up, a fantasy of motives enticing,
quickly giving way to crushing sadness.
of that which has been forgotten...

he steps forward, dropping the head deeper each step.
recalling empathy of death.

like a taunting dance: male and female alike invite him to a past,
a merry go round of memories flushes through and fades,
no longer can be touched that which was.

and open gates about you evoke the fantasy alive,
but what ever perks the will to search
leaves one at a loss to act
without her love...

and she
who stands among the dancing forms,
was built as a lie made of light ascribed selfishly,
an earth untended and ripe, wild with mystery.

before it was gone they came in ornate droves,
like oil and timber investors to a land prepared by the missionaries.
untenable without a direction she reached her arms up in praise,
inviting the mysterious aspect  into her heart.

self induction of another, the inorganic composition,
catalyzes the harvest
until she is void of that youthful spirit
so short lived in this world...
forever lost to the war that was to come.


what is this about?

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