Sorrow, sharp
Under this circumstance
Can, with time, mend this soul
Knotted heart, released
Many an afternoon cry
Yearned to be wept
Dawn came quickly
Indigo skies turned to gold
Commonplace kindness, see?
Knave, be chagrined

Sorrow, sharp
Under this circumstance
Can, with time, mend this soul
Knotted heart, released
Many an afternoon cry
Yearned to be wept
Dawn came quickly
Indigo skies turned to gold
Commonplace kindness, see?
Knave, be chagrined

Lucky to have me
Ice posing as something benign
The sliver of time before I became tragicRemember the last Time
You hoped the day would come
You thought you shared the Earth
You promised promises
You knew that it would last
You felt it all collapse
What puts me on edge about Spring is it makes no promises and refuses all requests.
Without notice, it could choose the craze of a Summer heat.
The best case scenario -such bravery in risking my lust.
Or on a dime, it delivers a confused dose of wintry wrath.
Snow that won’t live to see the weekend, so why-for dear Spring?
But woe be to me should Spring choose a most deviant trickery:
And leave me longing in only the long shadows of a forever Fall.
The drop
Atop the chim-chimney, in evening’s early hours
Slow, slowly down rock, round midnight
Absorbed then disbursed by the skin of the roof before dawn
Why, oh why, can gutters steal you by sunrise
The fall