Sun bleached sand,
like plain white paper,
displays the artwork of the waves.
In the desert,
the wind is a lost child,
crying outside my window.
Headlights gleam like tigers eyes,
roaring along the darkened
Caught in a sunbeam, butterflies glow,
like stained glass windows
in natures cathedral.
A small childs drawings,
like ancient glyphs,
contain the wisdom of the world.
underneath the faerie hill,
lovely fairies, dancing still,
can you see them where they hide?
do you dare to look inside?
careful all who wander near,
man of means or children dear,
for you may just disappear,
and with the fae folk ride!
echo in my mind,
Here I sit,
for something to mean.
A dead end shoot
of a thorny tree,
this clown, this dog,
this hole, this me.
Wild manes, strands blowing,
air over wings flowing,
ruffled grasses swiftly growing,
beneath golden sunset skies.
The Ladys eye is ever knowing,
on her children life bestowing,
endless love forever showing,
watch the moon arise.
My Lady of the crashing waves,
of stormwrought eyes and lightning word,
she flies on screaming winds above
where chance-lost sailors lie, interred.
She calls them from their silent graves,
and sets them free with lightnings lance,
old souls reborn as foxes fire,
once more to join the Ladys dance.
My mind is burned, it twists and turns, a knot without an end,
with passages and doorways dark and halls that have no bend,
around each corner lurks a hell that leaves me pale and shaking,
and yet I know, I recognize, this world is of my making.
There is no door, there is no end, no crawlhole for escaping,
there’s only constant screaming pain, raw edges torn and scraping.
It matters not which way I run, or walk or crawl or fly,
each direction that I see is a reflection just for me, the mirror is a lie.
I see Your face, Your love and care, Your promise of protection,
I see the rot that lies behind, the inevitable rejection.
I see the promise of the world, of chemicals, unfeeling,
I see myself, locked further in this hell of my own dealing.
I turn and turn, a desperate beast, trapped in my own burning,
I long for someone I can grasp, to make the world stop turning.
I see the end, of “hope” and “love”, and other traps and dangers,
I pound my fists against the glass, and still remain a stranger.
The only way, if way it is, is giving in to all the never,
retreating to the center space and living there forever.
Giving in, and giving up, becoming timeless nothing,
Curling up and curling in, the outer worlds just vanishing,
a black hole space without a world, no mind, no soul, no thing.