And then there were two
Unlucky thirteen and they were three
when the star of darker days fainted
to shine into another sphere.
It took flight for no kind of legitimacy
adjusted to a comfort too good
that it needed chaos to feel alive again.
The void it created still echoes of the deep emptiness
it left behind as in its chest
empty of the true care of living souls.
Today another has flown away
sad also as she looks behind
to the home of so many sweet memories
Just two remain by the hearth
holding one another in warm tears
in their hands photos of their gleeful days.
Dressed of a Girl
She wears the habit of a big girl
little still as she stares down all
unaware of her power in the dress
breasts of marble upon thighs of blue steel.
She bears the smile of a thousand goddesses
giggles as a middle school crush
but ignores the glares of gladiators
safe in the fortress she built for herself.
Many imagine her a centrefold of their fancies
submitted to those willing to spend a moment
giving glory to a shell she merely inherited
accident in a universe without a care.
Lace and hoses of silk, pure conventions
she may wear mystery black or provocative red
but she merely thinks of the rays of the sun
as she dresses her soul in the early mist.
Teen or they say mature, her age is skin deep
while the blood flows with ever youthful passion
bewildered by the attention of a multitude
she only thinks of herself as another face.
Girl, woman, matriarch, she does not care
for the images traced of her by the masses
where she fails to recognize any of her reality
simple inside, unaware of what they want from her.
In the Shadows
It began in the shadows of a frigid winter night
hopes, wishes, and dreams in restless sleep
impregnable distances lain before them.
Days had dissolved into the air
perhaps weeks to those who thought they lived
around the odd cocoons revealed in the city square.
Nothing stirred as saunterers continued on
trying to ignore this new oddity
so tempting for its soothing warmth.
They needed not be united soon in this world
the energy inside enough to fill with life
the palace reserved for them in eternity.
Modern Art?
He finds it impossible to keep his pace
matching that of a river roaring with
the storms of a fortnight.
He thinks of the mysteries discovered
in a thousand years, maybe more,
when treasures have amassed
in the white foam of his age.
It is of pastel green, aluminum and steel
an electric motor rusted by the dew
a place to keep food fresh for a family
now floating to another shore.
The remains of a lunch bought on the run
at the local eatery where time is everything
try to catch up with this safe home.
Bottles of glass and plastic
cans of metal, boxes of paper
all come crashing against the arches
of a bridge of concrete beneath the Interstate.
With every day it is more wonders
spoiling the treasures that water should be
and there these strange cemeteries grow
made of rejects no one cares to put away.
What an odd place this river has become
brown as mud, shining of unreal hues
racing it seems to escape its own destiny
as men keep feeding her the memories
they no longer desire.
The maker’s mirror
If God was to look into a mirror I wonder
what would he see?
When He looks down upon us mortals
what does he spy?
Upon His falling asleep somewhere in time
what are His dreams?
Sitting on a throne of alabaster with Peter
what deeds do they learn?
Alone with His creation everywhere in Heaven
what are His thoughts?
Walking down the streets of paradise
is there a parade for Him?
Should he close His all-seeing eyes,
what would darkness be like?
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