sometimes

sometimes when the wind blows
just right
through a crack in the attic
and the air shifts
the yellowed pages
of a long forgotten story

the light is all angles
catching dust in its beams
making it sparkle

it's then
and only then
that I miss you

The Artist

Tell me about your cigarettes
and insomnia
your coffee
and depression

how carefully you construct
your shrouds and cloaks and mirrors
the sparkle of charisma
the allure of your self-inflicted loneliness

I was never close enough
to see underneath

Was it love?
No, it was drama
a Shakespeare play
with romance and intrigue,
the comfort of a tragedy

How you fear
what you'd be
without your suffering and
mystery

I promise you this
if you were brave enough
to stretch open
cracks in the concrete of your walls
the light that comes in
is sweeter than the safety
of being alone

*to all tragic poets, and especially the one within myself*

Compassion

I cannot help

the way I hold 

the world's sorrows in my arms 

Every heartbeat breaking 

with every breath I'm taking 

I cannot help the fire

that is burning me alive, 

I care so deeply

Every inhale, 

Every exhale, 

Every fiber of my being 

I cannot be anything 

but compassion 

December

The morning hangs heavy

as a stone in my eyelids

But 

There is something serene about the way the light sits 

settling down on the river 

I see winter in its ripples 

blue and silver

Walk through the fire

Is there some way through

without walking through the fire 

without smoke in my lungs 

And lies on my tongue 

And the fragments of my singed thoughts scattered around me 

Like leaves torn out of the journals 

you brought me 

when you told me I should write again

How can I be who I am 

when I am a tornado 

I can't keep hidden the secrets I hold 

I cannot be anyone 

But lights and sirens and cold cold nights that take your breath away. 

Set Sail

When will I be done waiting for you 

When will I draw up my anchor and

set sail on these waves of sadness 

They tell me the depth of my sorrow, could be the depth of my joy 

And it goes deep. 

Bitterness

Bitterness 

is sorrow, turned solid 

Like wood, left in water which turns to stone 

A testament, that you will never 

be broken again