The Sharp
Wind
Maybe I could find the
answer
why the past still clings
in her
eyes, why her lingering
shadow
casts tears on the
ground, wishing
she'd light up the sky
like she
used to. Maybe the clue
will fall
from her hands and she'll
sweeten
the time with me like
she's done
before. For now all I see
is a slim
grey veil whenever she is
near
and a helpless feeling
inside grows
not knowing how to reach
her.
I lay a little note on
her pillow
hoping the words will
break
through to her when all
that is left
is just another day
staring at you.
I left only half a prayer
on my
windowsill aching for a
whisper
from heaven, but soon the
limit
on my patience will come
to an
end, and when it does
I'll turn
my head away from the
Almighty
God, let the sharp wind
whip
at my window.
It's No
Surprise
On the black canvas of my
dreams
he's no longer there, and
I'd give
it my implicit approval
that life is
now better, the memory of
him now
scattered like stale
cigarette ashes,
his whispers of two-faced
promises
having evaporated into
the air, and
in the thesaurus of
hearts he's as vain
as indecision. Sometimes
the mist
gives way and I think of
how damn
mean he can truly be; he
with rarely
a friend in the world
except me, and
he with his cruel
imputations; it's
no surprise his only
other friend is
in the business of
swindling people
out of their money and
using them.
One morning I summoned
my
willpower never to call
him again,
wizened by a sound mind
and
patience. Lonely, yes,
but a sweet
air all around me like
rose water
essence.
Wren
Hill
My heart awakes
come
the edge of morning
when
once again I take my
silent,
peaceful walk on Wren
Hill,
let the future find me,
and
I imagine my spirit like
a bird
following the sun, no one
nor
nothing to hold me back,
only
myself to touch what's
already
there. No more
coloring
the petals of a white
rose with
ash, no more staring
fixedly
into a burning taper of
wax.
I'll wipe away the
shadows
that used to darken my
eyes,
cleanse my worn self
in
the cool river, let
myself
breathe in the warm
stillness
of the air and listen to
the voice
of the water whisper
hold onto
the gentle language of
yesterday's
love and never let it
leave.