Again, sorry forgot to post.

Day 24

The warble of a robin egg blue wren
is caught in the canopy of my window;
kept trapped in a little treasure box
for safe keeping for a summer day.
But can I cage the sound without the being
in a tattered net that cannot hold
even the smallest of mysteries?

Sorry, forgot to post.
Day 23.

Count down with a failing arm of an age old clock
that sags beneath the burden of time
like a flower left by a graveside
that holds its best, longest
even though there is no one to see its beauty.

Day 22.

I guess it took me longer than expected
for me to find my way back to you.
Nothing has changed
except
that I feel I have grown older than you.
We grew up together, you help my hand
when times were rough and never
left me even when I left myself.
We made quite the couple, you know,
and now that I have come back
I feel
sadly
that I have outgrown you old friend.
I have changed
Oh how I have changed
but you, dear friend,
have remained exactly the same.
How can I let you know the things I have learned
and the ways I have grown.
No longer alone
no longer longing
but finally and completely full.
You filled me for so long;
you were my false God,
the object of my being
my worship, my praise.
I don’t know if things will ever be the same,
but now that I see,
I don’t know if I want them to be.
I want you to come with me
I want to bring you from the darkness
we dwelled in together for so long.
Come and take this step with me
and begin a new life
so that next time we meet,
we will both be changed
and made new each and everday
by something greater than us.

Day 21.

My heart is consumed with the soft melodic whisper of fall;
the gentle rustle of leaves as they become brittle
rattling like the empty cage of bones in a harsh winter wind.
I pulled apart pieces of my sweater and tied them to trees
to bind the naked limbs of outstretched arms
with skeleton hands to bony to find the warmth
that fills winter hearths with a fire burning
that speaks with the barely audible crackle like a leaf stepped on
just as it finally found a common place with comrades
just as brittle and lonely as itself.
But the comfort of fall has been long gone
this sun brings back the leaves to the naked trees
the new sprouting buds cover
the ties of cotton wrapped around their growing arms
that I left behind on a cold autumn day
hoping the trees wouldn’t feel quite so alone.

Day Twenty.

This frame you left to me is so hollow it hurts.
Its wire is bending under the pressure and puncturing skin
like the indentation left when a needle is pressed against a balloon.
The burrow of contact in the fraction of a moment
before the collapse and the implosion of being
that once belonged to this barren body.
The flesh no longer covers bone,
the words cannot blot out the worst in me,
and the way your eyes on me sear the curled edges of my being
burns more than the hell fire of this purgatory.

Sorry missed this Yesterday.
Day Nineteen.

Held in the hands of yesteryear
we never would have cradled ourselves
in our cold contentment if we knew,
but the heart of our minds
can never recover the moments wasted
with empty promises of sunsets to come.
Instead today we pick up the mantle of love
and learn to live again in a world
where Lady Apathy no longer lingers
in our doorway on the worst and best days.
Shut from the home of our hearts
she will dwindle and die.
Pick up the mantle of progress
not of hindering spite;
there is a whisper in the wind
carrying the time of change
do not let it pass you by.

Day Eighteen.

Devastated by this disaster
The chaos of cataclysmic clatter
wedged between our hearts
this vacuum between you and I looms.
The day when
Separated by a moment
turned into lost for all time.

Day Seventeen.

The woman holds out leaves of paper
That fall from her hands like autumn
But crash to the floor like a hurricane
Without words he pulls her to him
Encompassing her in his long arms
she doesn’t even try to stretch her wings
just crumbles like the ruins of a decaying façade
letting herself be consumed by something larger than her
He holds her like the binding of book
Trying to hold onto the loose pages of life.

Day Sixteen.

I am stuck
with my face
in my hands
and the words
everywhere
but
the page