Truth

Truth is a barren sort of beauty-
a cleanliness of form and line.
As the ice glazed trees in winter
cast blue shadows on the snow;
As desert sands hiss and glow darkly
gold against the bloody sunset;
As the lonely ocean swells
in vibrant depths of cyan green.
Quiet beauties illuminate Truth.

Chance

Sitting in my corner
Quietly observing
The silence makes way
For the rustling passerby
Where are you going?
Where did you come from?
Never to be seen by me again
Save for this one moment
When our paths cross
I will not remember you
You will not remember me
Our short encounter
Lost to the hands of time
Each headed in a direction our own
I am destined
Never to know your name
Nor you mine
Yet for one moment
One little second
Of all the seconds previously lived
And waiting to be lived
Our lives crossed
And we are never to be the same

Stone Cold Streets

As light comes to rest,
Gloomy night roams the sky.
Only faded lights in the street
Break the eating darkness.

Silence has come into every corner,
And into every hole.
Only in silence,
Secrets can be heard,
And memories can be seen.

Tower bell strikes three times,
And the black shadows come out,
Carrying a loved one on their shoulders.

Tears on their eyes,
And cuts on their shoulders,
Keep them going through
This dreaded night.

They walk,
Through the stone cold streets,
Remembering the laughs,
Feeling the tears.

Sadness rules tonight,
The dark shadows know it,
They are feeling it,
In their heart,
In that moment,
Tonight.

Tower bell struck three times,
But the darkness which fell,
Knocked but once.

Memories

miles of spun glass,

the crystals glint

in the gold light of yesterday.

Light and fragile,

one touch and

a life may shatter

into thousands of

glass shards, left

to be swept up and

tossed away.

Forbidden Christmas

The murmuring dead warning who appears,
Expecting shadows to fearfully call to me,
Lurking eyes becomes sharp as night comes,
Stretching its chill like a forbidden Christmas

The hidden haven wait to sound the wind,
Watching glowing outstretched leaves sigh,
Quiet gusts of eery wind becomes deep sleep,
Beautiful crystal eyes speak to the quiet forest

Futility

The image of my bloodshot, sunken eyes
and mask of apathy.
Holds my attention as it flickers
into being on the television screen.
It exists in the pauses between
the news bulletins and my regularly
scheduled life.
It ephemerally blinks out,
overshadowed by the mundane
of the world.
My ears exist to hear the exploding liberators.
My eyes exist to be awed by the price of the freedom toll.
My mouth shocks others into existence.
All fail at their duty save my hands.
My hands do nothing.