Spring and Winter

For all the trees they speak of spring,

Yet that grey sky of winter does sing.

Oh the seasons they are between, the death of winter the life of spring.

So listen, and listen well for that mourning tune and the rebirth that does swell.

For the seasons do meet on this cold green day, the green of spring with winter’s cold gray.

The start is here in this end of the slumber, the earth does awake like one’s tired lover.

As if to say just a wee bit more must I sleep must I slumber before it shakes that melancholy gray away for the sweet green of a bright spring day.


Oft at times I find myself adrift, lost amongst the snow, trudging through the melancholy only I  can seem to know.

Walking through the snow, in that melancholy only I do seem to know, searching for a bit of peace I find a piece of me; I feel compelled to hang it for all to see rather than leave it there and let it be, to let it go in that snow, that winter that I seem know. To do so would be more than I could bare…

For every time that snow does fall I barely survive even for time, the ordeal of being there.

Hall of Mirrors

Rotting and forgotten, I look about the place I reside, my gaze simply falling upon yet more failures to deride.

How did I get here? How did I come to this place? Filled with faces of those I believed to know, faces of those I thought I had grown to care for, to let inside my soul?

Yet, so little did I know. I gave my self an image, of what I wanted, what I thought them to be, in my selfish soul, in my self absorbed whole, I cared for what I thought them to be, making them more than they ever were alone.

So here, in this hall of mirrors, I look upon my face with disgust, and distrust, my lies now alone, simple ashes and dust as I live in this place made of mirrors. This place inside my soul that none will ever know…

Now I realize the truth, I have only ever been alone, and I won’t let another soul in, into this life of delusions and lies…

For it is mine, and I am cursed, to see what I want and not what is there, indeed to be banished here.

It is only fair.

Shame and Sorrow

Shame and sorrow, those dark kin, the same kind of sin.

I have lived my life filled to brim with these, the shame and sorrow of existing within.

Within my mind, away from others, forgetting my family, my loves, only just remembering to return.

I forgot for a time, what I considered my mine, and to my shame and my sorrow I remembered only after they were lost, those forgotten moving on, forward through life, leaving my behind.

So my shame, my sorrow, a dark kind of kin, that same sin. They filled my life with poison, with hurt and strife, for all that it was only inside my head, locked behind my eyes in the fortress of my mind.

Filled with poison, with shame and sorrow and secret sin, I stand in the darkness of my own tale, my story never ending, for you see.

I’m afraid to even begin.

A Cleansing and a Learning

Made holy, made pure, with that rushing water, those flowing words. Cleansed and cleaned, healed of my hurt, I stumble away, unsure what to do, with this new, this unbroken me.

I no longer hurt yet I can feel the scars all the same, they’re in my blood, they are my name. They are my form, my bone and soul, the ghost of them does remain.

Cleansed and pure, I remember that hurt, the suffering inside, and I realize now I’m lost unbroken but still broken as this form was never meant to be mine.

To hurt, to suffer, to break apart like glass and ash to drift together again, that was my calling, myself and soul, the part of my name implied but never known, unless one can see those scars and wounds that make up that part of  bone and blood, those wounds that never heal but just grow and grow.

I lost those in an attempt to stop the pain, but the pain was simply me, simply fighting what was meant to be, what had happened before shall happen again, in seeking a cure of doomed myself instead, for to learn I must break, and in the cure my body has forgotten all that pain.

I attempted to make pure what was already clean, there was sin yes, but nothing truly defiled resided with in me, nothing evil or wrong, just hurt, the pain of living, the pain of learning, it tore at my soul, and now I’ve gone and made myself forget, forget all I’ve known.

My scars were a story and my life they did tell, they were part of my name, blood and bone, my very soul and now I’ve gone and wiped my own home clean, of all that I’ve collected, all that I once did know. Now must struggle in a broken life with a body made whole but not holy, not pure and cleansed, unbroken is unburdened, un-scarred means you have not lived, for life is pain for all that it often leads to smile and hope, it isn’t the bright that teaches us to fear the dark.

No it’s the dark, the hurt, which makes us learn, it’s that pain that makes us wise, and it’s the bright that makes it worth it. The dark is the teacher, the light, that’s the prize.

Terrible Wonder

What fear, what terror I felt as I sat and beheld the soul of another and the love with in it held.

So bright that light, so awe inspiring that terrible beauty, that love, that hope I saw within.

To have such a thing given freely of another, for them to fill their very soul, it’s a wonder and it’s a terror that perhaps one day I’ll know.