Frame

It is with breath
That we draw inward,
And, with relief,
Release our hold.
Yet, some of us remain,
Clutching our chest,
And curling comfortably
Around our fires.
We nestle like infants,
As our spirits grow
Within our veins
And through our minds.
A child of wonder,
We see all anew.
Dazzling lights,
Lovely thoughts.
Until, at once we see
Within, we are trapped
Docile and paralyzed,
Begging to exhale.

A Whisper

Do you believe,
that gods can bleed?
Have you seen enough,
to conceive of,
divine mortality?
What would it mean for us?
We who must develop love
Of vulnerability,
Of blood,
Of death.
All so we may draw
our final breath in peace,
with our minds,
and our dreams,
drifting
in the cosmic seas
of infinite night,
and lovely,
lonely starlight.

Inward

He’s given too much to rumination.
A little too quick to trust concentration;
however misplaced, dull and graceless,
a soul in stasis as he passively paces.
Shapeless he coils
Into an infinite past.
A shame, if this time
were to be his last.
He may never come back.
He may run off the tracks.
He just might slip right through the cracks.
That quiet one,
who never laughs,
with eyes like shattered glass.

Jack

Tendrils have frayed
on a rope, now decayed,
as it gently sways,
amidst a circle of stones.

How long it grows,
to the darkness below;
floating above shadows,
amidst a circle of stones.

And though it hangs deep,
there is one it can’t reach;
a hand now deceased
amidst a circle of stones.

He tipped with a crash
and landed with a splash;
a thousand screams trapped
amidst a circle of stones,

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.