Golden Glow

For I am dying 

always, 

swaddled in the comfort 

of my shroud, 

through which I see,

with course clarity, 

the joy of the world. 

I will not fear

that which I do not know.

For what I do know

is life and love, 

and love and life eternal.

Morning

No one can comprehend

The morning

Not like one who stands at its threshold

Mutually giving it

That smell of renewal

And hopefulness 

Delay Me

He took

a slow drag from it,

pausing to perfectly hold on

to the clear, marrless night air.

He felt it's familiarity 

burning down into that place 

where he kept all his reasons 

why he never questioned 

the tantalizing pain of the flame. 

And then,

as though to mark his name

into our fears of the dark,

he released it all,

all that hot reverence 

he had for the world

and it's confines.

How he relished

in the view 

of the push towards

his own personal respect

going up in the smoke

of his savored self-indulgence. 

And how he hoped 

that someday pleasure would keep

from fleeting from sight,

and fading into the night.

Blurs of Yesterday and Tomorrow.

He walks, bent 

by the weight of his echoe

from yesterday's cry. 

How he mistrusts those 

characters he created 

so long ago, and now 

how he carries them

behind him. In front

of the world, he drags

that dog, a fierce beast

he hasn't loved since 

it was murdered by his future.

Oh, and how he floods 

the past, tying the weight of 

his tears to the airy 

reverb of his laughter. Never hearing

the truth he seeks to speak,

he lies down into the night. 

The night, where we all meet 

blurs of yesterday and tomorrow. 

Complete Space and Time

Vilify me, 

for my body must 

whisper into his

under the canopy 

of the apple tree. 

The budding branches 

drop its fruit all over, 

and watch as they roll

off our backs

into the tree line. 

We have never been 

anywhere but here, 

yet what a journey it took

to be present, 

to be so undeniably 

in love.