September 9th•
A breath inhaled of the coldest cold,
Turned the god from young to old.
A shock, to whom, had never felt
Anything but youth’s warm pelt.
He tried to run and save himself,
But the others, scared, offered him no help.
As age burdened the heaven-sent,
His flesh was wrinkled, his fingers bent,
He fought the curse to no avail,
Shocked to find that he could fail.
Beaten and battered he hung his head,
Wishing only to be dead.
His vanity had cursed his soul,
Turning it from gold to coal.
And though he wished for just one thing,
A painless end for death to bring,
The sun has shone and lit a spark,
That touched his heart with a gentle mark.
That day had marked the first of his
In which the god would truly live.
He searched for thing he never knew.
For wisdom, knowledge and for truth.
Through these his soul began to mend,
And age became his closest friend.
From there and on he stayed his age,
His youth no longer a soulless cage.
July 13th•
I am manic,
frantic.
Off the wall.
Filled with frozen fruit,
diet coke,
imaginary smokes.
Let’s play cards!
No, let’s dance.
Around, around, spin me around.
Walls, floor, ceiling, window.
Out the door, down the street.
There’s blood on my hips.
February 28th•
A fish-eyed girl begins to wail,
rocking ships of those who sail.
And soon the sky will turn to grey,
a sign that scares the brave away.
The ocean rocks and dips away,
flooding rampant towards the bay.
She throws the waves that rock each boat,
while sailors strain to stay afloat.
It is her world, her own domain;
and the captains call her name in vain.
But she is lost in red fury,
a rage that stains the once-blue seas.
The fish are gone, all scattered free,
from nets and deadly company.
Those who stay will pay a price,
for their bravery will not suffice.
The skies are pale, the seas are low;
the receding wrath of Calypso.
February 18th•
It never stops.
You lie when you say that you want it to.
Because you let it sit there,
festering.
It eats at half your mind and
leaves you only a little bit left,
just enough so that you know.
You know you’re not sane.
It’s never gone.
And when you’re cured.
“Freed.”
It snickers, wrapped around your cerebellum;
Coiled like a viper, it’s teeth only
a couple millimeters from your brain.
It has the patience to wait.
It can starve for days.
And, suddenly, you can, too.
Once again.
February 1st•
They wear bird skulls as faces,
sprouting feathers dot their backs,
But they never grow wings.
However, they fly.
Float, soar and glide.
Cat-bone spears, dog-tooth spears.
Warriors, unseen.
Permanent fighters who are never found,
a secret club without sound.
Undiscovered forest nymphs;
Sharp-tooth fairies of the undergrowth.
They ride the backs of robins,
send messages beneath the shell
of beetles’ wings,
communicate through the creaking trees.
Creatures, never found.
January 19th•
Hearts, spades, diamonds, clubs;
Another world is not enough.
Pick me up, let’s run away,
Take me to the stars to stay
January 28th •
I will never please myself
with loving you only half way.
