dovely

fair weather friends with hopes of
plans in lands far away.

life, love and the pursuit of loneliness
etched into my mind.

tainted shards of happiness in my past;
broken pieces of happiness in my hands.

and now?
i can see the sun from anywhere.

mirror, part one

those narrowed eyes have not
seen the extent that you have.

to us, you tell no lies.
you conceal no dark truth
of our depraved existence.

and yet, you do not judge us.
you merely observe our bodies
blossoming into brittle stems.
brittle leaves. brittle flowers.


who is it that you’re showing me?
i do not know him!
his face is not my own!

i am but a child:
innocent and young.
i've only started laying the corner pieces
in this great puzzle of life.

give me back the years you’ve stolen!

secret life

why must it always be like this?
always drowning;
always floundering;
always gasping for air.

i've never found it so hard
to weather an embrace.

a mouth full of words
i'll never say
is an unfortunate trait
the meek all share

arms flecked with black
and an untrained spirit,
heir to a treasure
of limitless confusion.

when will my endless
winter melt into spring?
or has it already begun?

friend

a noise
shatters the cool evening air.
the shuffling from beside
greatly concerns us.

a beast
perhaps. or even a demon
lurks among the foliage.
who are we to face such
a nebulous malice?

an arm
shatters the cool evening air.
my fears, vanquished, humbly
retreat to the ends of my mind.

a brother
perhaps. or even a twin
there stands, protecting me.
what could harm me
now?

this night holds no darkness.
why? because i am with you.

Life

What is this thing called life?
Of anything, we are yet unsure.

It is Pluto's cold, unfeeling kiss.
Or more like, perhaps, Icarus,
Flying to aurora heights unbound
By reason's ever-present sound.

Better yet: remain in the grip of
Diana's inexperienced love.
More fruitful there life always is
Than one with led by Venus' vile hiss.

We are simply all lost at sea
With nothing but Neptune’s chilly
Spray to slake our thirst.
Even still, a dream is the first

Drop to fall from the sky.
Only the angels that fly
Above can escape nature’s watery rend:
A small brook fumbling into an ocean at the end.

“Question the stars, little one,”
says Jove. “Life has just begun.”