Like Wisps

Autumn was punctuated
by a sudden shower
Of icy, crystal clarity.

And so we drew
Into the sharp void
Of an honest winter.

The problem with lies is
they become so brittle when frozen.
Burdened with translucence.

A tendency to fall apart.
Not worth the effort,
Not keeping us warm.

We needed something that sizzled.
Something to warm our hands about,
some kind of fire or friction.

We found it in warfare,
but lost it in victory.
Too high, the stack of headstones.

The tall shadow and crisp air
caused desperate reflection;
Why were we here?

So we gave into stillness.
And then we saw it,
The Truth.

The flames were our prison.
The fields of blood, our keepers.
Our loss, our light.

We vanished.
Chased by winter winds,
Like wisps, into the night.

Valley Shade

The pain is real. The fear is real. The shame

is real. But, the future and the past, they

are not. This day, at the bottom of the valley,

between two steep slopes, is battered by

rolling threats of tomorrow and sliding scars

of yesterday. Mass wasting will someday level

this perverted landscape. But, why wait?

Why not just give up the illusion? Or not.

The shadows may shorten the days but,

at noon in the valley, the sun will mockingly

pass overhead and warm our faces.

Gone until tomorrow. Remembered always.