I am the only one here
It is obvious others have gone on before me,
I’m sure more will follow.
I am alone.
However a lonely lie I do repeat
You cannot convince me otherwise.
And upon climbing back up from the valley
The echo of a lonely lie calls back from afar.
The path is barren.
I descend into fog for fear of reaching the summit.
Posted in Personal
Tagged alone, barren, call, echo, Fall, lie, lonely, path, poem, poetry, summit, valley
Waters carry me past winter,
Here allow me to sleep.
With no veil, these tired eyes pried open
Then forced closed on what they keep.
If we see nightmares in the day,
Are we really asleep?
Floating through what I once thought to be a stream,
Shocked to learn it a river,
What I thought was spring,
Really was the end of summer.
My eyes closed, am I alone in this stream?
Maybe yes. I’ll continue to dream.
She is awoken by voices,
She is alone.
In a strange place
She calls home.
Echoing off the walls,
In the midst of silence found,
They who have no name,
Each of their words resound.
She hates the silence,
It’s when they are so loud.
Whatever noise she can make
To ward off absent sound.
There is a voice she fears above most,
The one who, from the silence, boasts.
She hates his persistence.
She is insistent that he leave.
She fails and fails and fails again.
Any other voice from the din!
The many shout at her,
She does not give in.
But the one quietly calls,
From behind a door that’s cracked open
When the others leave.
He calls to her, her fears.
Things forgotten from across the years,
And then she remembers why
They were pushed aside.
Then in her heart
She deeply wishes the voices to depart.
And she hears
So softly in her ear,
“You will believe us absent, asleep,
You will rejoice in your soul deep.
You will forget what I tell you now
And you will remember each time we return our sound
You, in your fear, may not belong,
And we will never truly be gone.”
She closed her eyes,
And awoke alone; or so she was told.
She rose to the window,
And thought the sun too bright to be this cold.
Posted in From the shadows
Tagged alone, awoke, bright, cold, echo, fear, forget, gone, hate, home, loud, place, poem, poetry, remember, resound, silence, sleep, soul, sun, voice, window, words
This is the day that light dies alone.
So far away, yet close to home.
For home in nothing resides a shadow,
Of the path that leads to it. What can I do?
In wonder I gaze at stars above.
In wonder I look around.
The sun with dead light beats down.
A day of dead light is hardly day at all but time.
In times passing behind nothing, before it, void.
Light dies alone in past tense, and in its future bed.
It’s only alive in this moment, hope with it in our head.
I will not gaze behind me to find it true: all what I’ve said.
Daylight dies alone and I, now can finally see,
That I am not the one that light calls company.
Posted in Time
Tagged alone, day, dead, dies, hope, light, nothing, path, poetry, sun, time, void, wander
I cannot sleep alone,
Here on the floor and dreaming.
With no one here beside me warm,
With no one here now breathing.
I cannot hear the breath you take.
“Come back!” The void hears, screaming.
And with a final sigh defeated
I resign. My heart stops beating.
Cursed to go on living in unrequited love,
Here I’ll stay.
No one will hear me breathing.
Posted in Life (or something like it)
Tagged alone, breath, breathe, floor, heart, love, poetry, sigh, sleep, unrequited, void
A breath of entropy,
A bright glow,
A light embracing ruin.
Staring into flames I see,
Not much more than smoke.
I find a space that truth’s in.
In darkness, home.
The world’s alone.
Each orange one hugs the fallen.
The fire has me,
Enraptured to see.
A light embracing ruin.
Posted in Nature
Tagged alone, darkness, embrace, entropy, fallen, fire, flames, hug, light, orange, poetry, ruin, truth, world
She laid her once holy blade in the mud,
Raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun,
To gaze across a wasteland soaked in blood.
She looked for her brothers, for survivors, anyone,
Naught but frozen, lifeless eyes met her gaze.
Thousands and thousands marched with her from home,
So quickly torn from their halcyon days,
To the final resting place for their souls.
For herself she weeps, not so much the dead.
Her price? No release for herself to find.
For such a price, can “This is peace.” be said?
She mourns for the world that she’ll leave behind.
There’s no absolution in crimson tide.
There is no peace where so many must die.
Posted in Life and death, Sonnets
Tagged absolution, alone, battle, battlefield, blood, brothers, crimson, death, die, home, pardon, peace, poetry, release, soaked, tide, war