Monthly Archives: December 2015

Just Another Day

That was just another day
The cat sits and stares, and seems to say:
“Rest, this is the end of your trail.
Tomorrow is a different tale.
This day was one and tomorrow the same.”
Day in day out, nothing much changed.
The voices follow me home, but i decline to listen.
Morning sunlight on the dew drops glisten.
A sleepless night behind.
The cold dawn responds in kind,
And without noticing, slips by,
One into the next and I cry.
This is the day I deserve to die.
But so was yesterday and so is tomorrow,
Not knowing which is which,
From the future, time I’ll borrow.


Night to Day


When once there was day,
The cold of night lives.
An expired lease on light,
An absolute, a saying good night.
The snow a blanket for my cold sleeping.
The moon a light for my dark dreaming.
Awaken by the death of night, dawn.
Was what I was really waiting for all along.

Year’s End

A cold beginning to the end.
Grey but not sad,
Cold but not bad,
To the next year, this I send:
I will not sit and wait for you.
When I am ready,
You must be ready.
I will not stop to give you clues.

That Which Was Lost

Overwhelming to the point of breaking.
This last thought, the straw, broke the camels back.
A grief so heavy, such life force taken.
The strength to go on is something he lacks.
How long to remember? How long to hold?
What would be different if known what was last?
Now to sit and watch the wreckage unfold.
He crumbles and more so than others, fast.
A preposterous idea proposed:
“Maybe, just maybe.” he hears himself say,
And looking up to the sky, his eyes closed,
Asking if he’ll see her again one day.
All at once he screams, for he does not know,
Awakening those who await below.



She waits for the morning.
When shall the sun rise?
Staring into the eyeless night,
The darkness watches back.
A cold wind blowing,
Patient for her prize.
A journey onward in search of light.
She stands though the ice and snow attack.

A Sonnet to Seasons Change


Within the forest, forever she sleeps.
The winter wind has tried to call her back.
No spring, no summer,  a constant sleep deep,
Any certainty of waking, she lacks.
How long has this winter been? Cold wind blows
Over what must soon come to be her grave:
A full moon and the snowy trees below.
This is all that is left from what she gave,
Where’s spring? No living memory holds summer.
“Oh, the ice! Where is the fair face of fall?”
A common lament of those who love her.
Not one, but many. Of them, she is all.
She is the snow, the rain, the heat, the wind.
From the snow sprouts a bud. New life begins.

Isaac Clarke


Stomping on corpses,
So they do not follow me.
Never rise again.

A reference to Dead Space in case you didn’t get the title.