Some Old Poetry In Lieu of New Writing

Good, Night

A thousand winds have stirred
my clothes, my heart, my eyes
have seen a thousand sunsets
paint one sky
one moon
has shown a thousand faces
they beam
down on
one earth
in deepest blue and richest
green, the trees
reach with a thousand hands,
to grasp,
a thousand stars
shine through darkest black
the night, my steps..
O, but I know the night
and it knows I
through windows, my ears
it sings to me
Come forth, the cry,
the call of life
O flesh and blood
come meet and laugh and
love
a thousand hearts beat
a chorus, irresistible
one voice, it sings
a thousand songs


Such Filthy Pleasure

Unholy trees, a forest in a box
Dark branches, their tips bearing fire
red fruit
my breath, it fogs
in wreaths and rings
swirling in the exhaled breeze
Those branches embrace
My will
Is weak
resolve burned through
with round holes
The grey, it falls
a carpet of such deadly snow
my footsteps leave
a path
traced back to who i am
I want it to stop
I don't want it to ever
End.