March 28, 2006 - Sequestered Souls

sequestered souls
tonight the sky was dark

there was a gash in her veil

a lighter blue of topaz shone through the night's torn fabric

revealing a wound unknown, unseen, unfelt

stumbling through the dark

the mist glistened in the sparse light

the shadows, they just listened

as they sought refuge behind outstretched arms

a brisk zephyr rushed by

numbing all it came into contact with

wounds neglected, not permitted to mend

leaving souls sequestered

alone, in vessels that refuse to give voice

September 7, 2005 - Painter's Metaphor

Painter's Metaphor



The guise of metaphor feels so safe

But I ache to be found

For this place is an empty sepulcher



Produce the painting that will be enjoyed for aesthetics

Hoping that someone will see the purpose

…behind each careful brushstroke

behind the painter’s selection from his palette

yet not miss the overall story as displayed on canvas



then the artist wonders

does he paint from false inspiration

out of the relentless need for expression

or out of the simple joy of doing what he loves



hoping for sympathy he paints trails along the ground

they all lead to himself

only to find that he has painted himself into a corner

nowhere to go but to wait, afraid of who will discover

curious to see who has felt the same

August 12, 2005 - Flotsam

Flotsam



Somehow my soul was jettisoned from this vessel

Leaving it not more than a ghost ship

Tired of sailing whichever way the wind blows

The stars have been veiled

Not permitting any sense of direction

Somewhere along the way the anchor was lost

Leaving this boat to drift, drift aimlessly



Yet stubborn determination drives me onward

To sail to where I do not know

To blindly pull back the translucent curtains of fog

March 19, 2005 - The Walk Home

The Walk Home
Current mood: artistic wannabe

A.M., dark outside
the great nightlight in the sky gleams just enough.
Cars drive by occasionally in the distance with an echoing exhale,
ersatz light only looks forward, squinting in the night.
Now only the rhythm of rubber sole against gravel--
crunch, crunch--like non-soggy cereal--crunch, crunch.
The obnoxious ringing in my ears the loudest sound,
drowns out the din in my mind, to escape the bedlam.
Dull aching chill against my skin,
the bitter breeze warms me.

Alone, alone in madness of the halcyon darkness.
Free, free in captivity of my thoughts.