Java Dreams

i think i can finally say
that you are naught
but bones to me.
your spirit,
now laid to rest,
no longer haunts
this wintry house.
a little sun
would do this old boy


Lucent Veil

it wasn’t long;
mere moments.
but in-between the breaths
and drowned-out words,
you held me captive
in your blues.
i have been looking at the earth
for too long;
i should be looking
to the skies


Noir Seeker

ye of tepid flame;
had you truly wished
to break the cycle,
you would have found your answer
by now.
you have grown
to enjoy your suffering.


Tumbleweeds of the Heart

i wish i could explain it,
i suppose only God knows why,
i wanna leave the memories of you
far behind,
but like the winds from a different time,
you are always blowing
through my mind.



the truth
is that i am far too afraid
to love again.
to be pushed back
into the darkened recesses
of what remains of my mind
is a consequence
i dare not subject myself to
so should you see me,
mine eyes,
on some unforeseen horizon,
know that i have loved you
a million times
and none,
in my mind,
before you have even said hello.
i beg,
for the betterment of you
and i;

leave me there.


Gemmation of a Faded Promise

how trivial i must have been
to have been laid to rest
we were never to dance
nor enjoy the drink,
though you made sure
to have me believe
you wanted it so.
the days are longer
as are the shadows
of you
that linger.
what was i
to you?

tell me,
faded flower;
what was i
to you?


Reprise of a Promise

a grim specter,
you are to me.
how many more nights
must i be subject
to the timeline
that never was?
i had loved you
for a lifetime
in the time it took you
to let me go.
to be plagued,
even in my dreams;
is this the man
you wanted me to be?



there are hallways in my mind,
laden with fog,
that even my words
cannot pierce.
as much as it frightens me
to descend deeper;
something beckons
from within the mist.
a darker presence
sinks its hooks
upon my spirit
and it is not long
until i find myself
at the mercy
of my animus


Writ of Thorn and Petal

i feel my age of writing
is coming to an end.
summoning visions,
night after night,
only exhausts;
only drains.
were it so easy
to only draw upon
the joy
i once felt.
bringing you out
from within the tumblers of mind
only hastens the descent
of the scythe.
i implore you;

it is not enough
to bury the shadow.
only when basked
in glorious light
will it end
with you.

and i will do my best
to make sure
it ends
with me.


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