The rusted metal shingles dared time enduring storms
now home to playful pigeons loudly cooing their freedom.
Skeletal wooden arms reaching towards the sky
revealing the rotten underbelly, a dying creature
refusing to let go but slowly fading.
A broken path now covered by overgrown bushes
still retains ghostly footprints of healers and conquerors
of forgotten people and pain.
How to endure the passing times
a child’s play in broken rhymes
of dreams and pain,
what I lost, what I gained.
I see my ghost in crumbling places
in silent sounds and wrinkled faces,
counting time in one more breath
I defy life and welcome death.
My grave in your thoughts
a final resting place,
no dirt but ashes on a distant shore
my name to be spelled on a salty taste
of a stranger’s tongue.
And what will remain
but the fading memory of my face
in the soft cradle of your hand.
Nothing lasting forever,
nothing ever needs to stay
only ashes on a distant shore
scattered across the sand.
March 17, 2021
“on the eve of my birth”
Smooth black down the seam of her dress-
A hundred years not enough on a grave
when a kiss resurrects your desires for a stone
decorated italics marking all that was done.
Shame and greed, but how love one more kiss
on these lips old and dry, to embrace
one last dance of a beautiful end with no trace
of the who I became and the what I’ll become-
Who will break my fall
If I ever do fall.
Who will gather pieces
if I ever break
and becomes my glue
or will sooth my soul.
Who will calm this ache
burning deep within,
where would they begin
If I ever break
or If I ever fall.
“The splendid thing
about falling apart
you can start over
as many times
as you like.”
― Sanober Khan, A Thousand Flamingos
The parrots came back today.
A pandemonium of green feathers crowding the feeder
pushing, squawking for a taste of sunflower seeds.
My mind wanders, the feathery sound clouding thoughts
of time and place, adrift, my heart weeps.
How do I grasp life when it seems to slowly slip away?
Words mute in my throat do not follow
the path of my pen, building up, choking a voice
of freedom and love, the sound hollow
while I feed my needs, pushing, amidst the noise
around this flock of lost souls, to find my way.
“Demented by uncertainty,
Fidgeted by certainty,
That’s how we abide by what we call destiny.”
― Komal Paudyal
How easy the sand shifts it shape
at the mercy of the waves it transforms
around rocks, and this hand like a god
changed a course drew by nature.
My imprint tells of me when it’s caught
in the rush of the water and the sand
to remain for a moment, just a moment,
‘til the waves come along once again
and erase all I was in the sand-
“Sand lines my soul which is filled with the breath of the ocean.”
― A.D. Posey
I was a light, along a path to seek
I thought I was a light.
I was of love, a kiss upon a cheek
I thought I was of love.
I was the ink, for words a soul to speak
I thought I was the ink.
But I’m but flesh to age and rot
and turn to dust,
a flick of cells I must
for all the above I’m not-
“I don’t know what keeps me mingled—
in excitement and grief.
I know no name of this fire I burn in—
but only that it is and I am.”
― Rafy Rohaan
“Balances flow into one another, like the tides. Their boundaries are seldom clearly drawn.”
― J. Earp