All my love

All my love is not a raging word nor is it a whisper missed upon the morning sun; it is what you choose to see and accept, thus it is never the same thing thrice. 

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If I had a choice

if I had a choice, I would choose the explosion of a star over the light of a constellation; the love of the rain over the companionship of the sun; the embrace of a storm over the touch of autumn’s breath;

If I had a choice. 

Verdant luck dripping

Verdant luck dripping
from seams of star lit hope
on my soul’s jacket
a pocket of stolen joy
bursting to break free
of all and everything
I was
ever ever
suppose to be.

I find myself
on cold green earth
plucking petals
dashing daises to the ground
under feet of youth
asking
should I breath
would you?

and should I
should I wish
upon a star above
a clover leaf of God
would I hear
my heart wishing
may it never
may.
it.
never.
never
fall.

Return to Nature

I want to return to nature. I want to be enveloped in her embrace, touch the heart of the forest, and delight in her acceptance of each cautious footfall as I return home to her, a wayward daughter long devoted to the new world of metal and maligned dreams but knowing I belong to the world that was and should ever be. 

Valley of Death

[Written to:  Song of Sheherazade ]

Wind whips whispering want

each step a sip of winters wailing

and springs unfortunate delay.

Sky dangerously dark above

earth languidly unaware of soles

pressed defiantly deep upon it

carry one, who,

wrapped in weary wandering,

a wisp waging war against

gods who no longer speak

and siren songs no longer singing,

walks towards the edge of possibility

seeking a thing desired yet un-obtained.

Lo, thirst for rain does not grant it

nor retching render a ransom of hunger’s despair.

Dust for tears strangle sound

to subjugate doubt with oppression and fear!

All here gnash and gape and claw

at the heart of the feet who

carry it.

What is this madness?

Who, in a seeming sea of uncelebrated hubris,

rages yet again in this, an immortal and hopeless, quest?

A reply slips free

“’tis the quest of the living

the survival of a dream.”