Visiting HoursThe orange jumpsuit really didn't suit her complexion. But, then, they're not exactly intended to be fashion statements. The slow steps with which she moved, her lank hair and sunken cheeks weren't her either.I frowned as she took a seat across from me, "What were you thinking?" I tried to sound curious instead of judgmental.I needn't have tried. She simply lifted a shoulder listlessly, dismissing my question. "Nothing, really."Her appearance already had me so shaken, her attitude disturbed me even more, "Then why?"She lifted her eyes to meet mine, and there was such pain in their blue gray depths, so much strain that had pushed her to the breaking point, I had to look away. Shame that I hadn't seen her pain sooner filled me. Could I have helped? I had no way of knowing, but I wished I'd been able to try.Her quiet voice emphasized the hopelessness of her response, "What's it matter?"
Days 15 and 16Day 15Didn'tBroken windowIncriminating batGuilty lookAnd grass stained clothesYou glare and you yellGoing on aboutResponsibilityPlaying where stuffWon't get brokenBut, I said beforeAnd I'll say again,I DIDN'T DO IT!Day 16Stay A WhileAlways before, when I was afraid orMelancholy, you would hold my hand.I knew everything would be alright.Danger couldn't touch me, IRemember. And I rememberEverything stoppedAnd I forgot to breathe, hearing you wereMortal, like me. And you were gone.I sense your comforting presence,Nestled in your arms, everything'sGoing to be alright.
Thanks, LadyWelcome glimpsesIn the spring,Lakes of colorsDancing on the roadsideFlowing in the breeze.Lady Bird Johnson's legacyOffers this treat,Welcoming to our gazeEvery year,Returning for a distressinglyShort, but beautiful time.
Broken VowDaring the fates,Only you would make such a promiseNever one to fear what may lie ahead"There is nothing that will take me away."Gone now, despite your vow,Oblivion has taken you.
In the ShadowsWhere you fear the dark,I find it a lark.When your eyes cannot see,You will try hard to flee.Your desp'rate flight will be short,I will have the last retort.
NaPoWriMo Catch upReach (Day 9)Grand goalsTerrifyingly out of reach,Causing a paralyticLack of action.Break it down,Bit by bitIt can be done.Opinion (Day 10)Poison dribbleStaining the airOr inspirational blessingsIlluminating the dark.It could be eitherOr anything in between All dependingOn yourOpinion.Poison(Day 11>The snakeHissing into the earVenom drippingInto the brainDissolving synapsesUntil the mindIs the shapeThe whispererDesires.
Itty Bitty Creepy CrawliesItty bitty creepy crawlies,creeping along the ground.See them, no,feel them, yes,as they creep around on eight toes.Itty bitty creepy crawlies,creeping along the ground.Watch them climb,watch them fly,along their silken threads.Itty bitty creepy crawlies,creeping along the ground.Watch them feed,with a desperate need,inside their silken homes.Itty bitty creepy crawlies,creeping along the ground,They come to say hello,up your arm, down your spine,then they say, good day.
Waning GibbousMisty-mouthed,staring at a pearl on velvet,softly cradled overthe burnt-sienna maples,the moon lies tilted sidewaysunaware of the girlthe dogcontemplating craters and whether or notthey look like a woman's faceor a child idly dancingon ground that remembers all footprints.
SunrayI will walk the morning sunto the edge of the very last raylet it fill me breath to lungI will shine away
BlanketThey all shine so brightTrillions of coloursOne for each mileThat separates us.The fabrics of spaceWoven so looselyEnough for our livesTo slide through the creasesYes, we see theBirths of starsThe deaths of stars,As well.It's all a wide blanketWarming us in the cold abyssEasing the lonelinessOf an empty universe.
Autumn IsWet asphalt, and rain-soaked leaf-mulch teaSummer’s wastrel profligacyWashed down gutters and urban-henged streamsTo a sucking sea that mutters and dreams.Autumn isCold air flavored with woodsmokeGhosts the twilit mist invokesSilent and numb, but loathe to go inTo steaming kitchens and family din.Autumn isMelancholy and solitudeAnd hidden places in which to broodRot, decay and introspectionDelirium, death and dark reflection.
Painting the SkyMother Nature:Effortless in her grace,Flawless in her beauty,The world a canvas,With her palate of infinite color,Any method or tool at her disposal.She is the master of pieces,The composer of ancient lyric,The writer of every story,The artisan of all trades.She paints the heavens at dawnWith hues of violet, orange and rose,And strains the clouds on the horizon.The rising sun’s light reflecting off their surfaces,Cascading vibrance onto the weary eyesOf those in slumber, and those awoken long before.She calls the birds to sing the melodiesKnown to them by heart,And as they face the new morning,They bravely sing the intricate verse,A language all their own,But one that all are blessed to hear.She takes her brush and streaks it across the clouds,And carefully flicking the moisture down to earthShe adorns all things with the finest crystalline water,Dew covering the grasses,The weaving of spiders,The flowers untouched by crude hands.She gently blows a sin
autumn veinscan't you take your eyes awayfrom the bright blooms inyour memories?look out the window;you can see the tan winds,the cyclone of cyclicalfallen leaves, loves,lives, thestruggles of wildflowerthorns to be seen,not felt.look closelyand see a child.there are dying weedsin her white headbandand whispered poemsin her bruised feet.remember when you had to choosebetween the summer breeze andautumn gales?this is is that moment.((you made the right choice.))
ForgottenBlot the fetid spews of AutumnEvery blossom once soft; Now rottenVegetation once lush; Now soddenSwallowed by earth; A promise solemnAll those fallen will birth new pollenEach lives on; be naught forgotten..
SuprasolarWe call it the Local Group,this, our neighborhood of galaxies,in which only a single staramong billionsis even remotely reachable.And we tell ourselvesto dream big.That hard workwill get us there.But on the cosmic scaleour collective capacityis nothing.For every star in the Milky Way,all four hundred billion or more,there is a galaxy.Even the Local Groupis nothing.Yet since dreams are orbitalwe hold our breath to reach them.And when we perish in the vacuumthe stars still burneverything that matters.
Bright ShadowBright shadow,Edged in goldAnd green.The entire cycleIn one simple view.