...

that blaze?
set high,
by anger?,

body and hope,
scorched,
dead (?),

life remains,
(will hope reclaim?),
clinging forever,
like the undead dead.

...

this blinding haze,
f(o)ueled by the hopeful spark,
stifles nothing but itself,

dying embers, alas!
don’t stay dead,
‘t(h)is time,

‘t(h)is crumbling dyke,
douses embers,
stifles hope.

...

memories prevail,
despite the dying embers,
captured in pretension,
in this redolence,
of defunct phantasm.

...

these lies,
swathed, in
pretentious diminutives, and
belittling adjectives,
acknowledge,
the want-need-desire,
for 'nother beginning,
a new tomorrow, with
a warm smile, and
a grand finale.

...

this eve,
the preface,
to an end,
that never was,
a dozen years ago,

and an end,
to the beginning,
that will forever,
remain elusive.

there are no ends,
without,
beginnings, and
no (new) beginnings,
without an end.

...

breathe,
silently,
into darkness,
definite nothingness,

exhale,
slowly,
into tomorrow,
possible oblivion.

...

there are those that beg,
for more,
at the altar of time,
a few minutes there,
from that other day,
and then there are those,
that let time slip,
like sand through an hour glass,
un-tethered,
meaningless,
until it is past,

I beg now,
for those years past,
to have never been,
that reality,
always a dream,
so there is no me,
here,
begging for this dream,
someday reality,
not today,
but someday.

...

hair whipped around,
arms flailing,
clothes askew,
beauty unscathed,
at the end,
of the short walk,
from the edge,
to over.

...

those withering glances,
stark in essence,
obsolete in purpose,
mean nothing to this psyche,
nonexistent in emotions,
biding the end of time,

the damage is done,
the songbird drowned,
and yet,
(there is something to be said for patience)
we await the tenor (?),
of the fat lady.

...

like the ascending crescendo,
of an approaching train,
those leaves a-flutter,
in this indian breeze,
unseen clouds,
unknown depths,
endless thoughts,
endless thoughts,
now, but not
forever.

...

there is nothing to do,
but hope this errant cloud,
will find a peak to rain upon,

one cannot help but wonder,
in this life of valleys,
where those are to be found,

half glass full?
this cup runneth over,
with the drowning songbird.

...

the tolling bell,
lost in the cacophony,
of endless todays, and
seamless tomorrows,

lend me an ear,
a silent night, and
some time,
out of this mind.

...

this is me,
wild,
untamed,
bare-foot,
hair a-fly,
teary eyed,
with laughter,
mirroring none,
of heart break,
disappointments,
and dreams,
gone awry,
today is all there is,
tomorrow may never be,
spirit may cease,
but tonight,
this is me,
with hope,
in thought, and
thoughts,
without hope...