i may never bend,
a willow branch
thirsty for space

i heed wild skies
and sunsets
that flame this
hunger to feel
roots

there is nothing to
surrender,
my God is lost in creation,

i was a goddess once,
one of seven sisters
one of nine daughters
of Eve.

i leave no trails for you
do not follow me
i've gone far beyond,

earth is a temple in my veins,
do not sound your trumpet,

and like the frenzy of madmen
you've been stabbing it
and stabbing it
and stabbing
yet nothing dies
directly related to your fury
the world does not
desecrate itself
anywhere near
how a whore does
when
no matter how she tries
she will never be
that small girl with
her hand in her mother's
the smile on her face
and the promises of
bigger things

Should you wander out
amidst nights' "twilight time",
it can end up going one of two ways;

if you fail to notice,
which would be a major crime;
youll have to wait, and see how the evening...plays.

Should you venture into
this "twilight force",
I can't emphasize this, nearly enough;

your existence will completely change,
and that's just "par for the course";
those, are your demons in the rough!

Should you wander out
amidst nights' "twilight time",
it can end up going one of two ways;

if you fail to notice,
which would be a major crime;
youll have to wait, and see how the evening...plays.

Should you venture into
this "twilight force",
I can't emphasize this, nearly enough;

your existence will completely change,
and that's just "par for the course";
those, are your demons in the rough!

Hurting pains sometimes manifest in anger
With distorted contour and crooked face
Voice tone in high rise explodes like bomb
Part of pains flow out in dissipated stress
The wound heals, the scar remains unseen

This painful effect conscious of the cause
The wound deepens, healing hard and slow
Rage degenerates into grudge and malice
Eats up the host till nothing is left inside
Cadaver disintegrates and awaits interment

Tick - tock,
Sounds the dying hands,
Like bells that toll rife,
In ripened, chilly air,
And hands that stoop to fell
The seasons weary run.

Dust and dirt and minds,
And broken things reply
The token sounds:

Tock-tick-tock...

Again, again, in ceaseless
Strains chorused
From every waking yawn,
Till the lull of sleep approaches
Once again...

Decreed forever to make us dance,
Like foolish puppets,
Helpless brothers;
Hapless beings of chance,
Cousins of a controlled race.

Soul Dancing

sunlight
tumbling
rainbow drops

the clock stays still

and a shadow of a bird
trims across my thoughts

funny how this purpose
drifts me
ive been
though these before
felt the letters stirring
in thin sheaves
like wind
in the grasses

there are ruins
filled with sleeping
shadows
gates articulated
in dreams

and I feel your voice
on my shoulder
this sun is hot
and full soothing
touch
lingers

I feel so close
and so far away

Paved roads lead to interstates
which all wind up in a large city
where nothing good for me awaits
just crowded masses without pity

Yet when one goes the other way
road surfaces become unpaved
with just scant gravel over clay
where roadside growth is misbehaved

These are the roads which I prefer
where old trucks can leave a cloud of dust
while I seek fin, feather or fur
among a world I know and trust

gulls shriek a grey hunger
across my field of silence
morning ripens into Monday
and the dance begins,

cars whizz into traffic jams, doors slam
the world coming in and going out,
dogs bark their allegiance, the morning's Hallelujah chorus
still singing their bird song as if nothing else
mattered,