restless wings.

to and fro
energy flowing
let it go
the night is waning

the stars are young
and fighting the dawn
time for sleep
has come and gone

little bird, wake from your dream
the nest rustles from your siblings sleep
rise up and stretch your wings
the day is just beginning-

and it will be lovely.

-for my little bird.

Fabricated.

Lies and truth, weaving out in a paradox of color. 
A life being fabricated. 
Pieces of apathy and love sewn together
Into a harmonious flowing texture of thought and being.

Cafune.

Giver of the light

take my hand
lead me into
your tender dreamland
cradle my head
let me surrender
whisper sweet nothings
my candid pretender
gaze upon the fire
enkindled in my eyes
feel the feverish desire
wanton rapture in disguise

singular pleading movements

swift carnal motion

gasping heartbeats drowning

in a cognizant ocean

wake me from depths

of catatonic slumber

sing soothing praise

my gentle abductor

entrust me your heart

relinquish all fear

my soul is your home

and my home is you, dear.

isolation.

timeless nights unpacified
restless days unsanctified
erratic thoughts, turmoiling mind
frozen wasteland of frantic time

frosted fingers flailing
quiet courage quailing
crystal shell, empty void
countless moments lie destroyed

self-reflection gazing
clouded eyes appraising
broken glass, shredded skin,
dying starts from within.

wood-between-worlds.

Laying beneath the crunchy velvet of the forest floor
cradles me in a naked Surrender
for I am as the trees
majestic in their ancient wisdom
and beyond beautiful in the human concept
for how can We,
still rosey-cheeked and bright-eyed
in the Evolution of Ages
ever yearn
ever crave
to be Gods among the Timeless
the In-Between Worlds,
the landscape of secrets in a woman's heart?
Dormant Longings
are laid bare here,
newborn in their dew-covered conscious

Catherine.

I am the sleeping dead
imprisoned in the raw limbo of purgatory
I am the dry whisper close to your ear
in the silk intimacy of night
I am haphazardly drifting
throughout my fragile shell
passing Humanity at the drop
of a sinful thought
obliviously unaware to my exhales
of unwelcomed ironic air
atrocious angles of bones barely perceived
when feathered against Gucchi purses
and Armani leather clad shoulders
I am a Withering Epiphany
resurrected for the sake of
my own convoluted perceptions

mirror reflection.

eyes smirk back/in the panel of glass
as I loudly laugh/with biting sass
in wake of my past/the humor comes last
in these days of hate/while we watch and wait
to take our place/with a bitter taste
in the flavor of Fate/we all can relate
it's do or die/in this day and time
no place to hide/or scream and cry
no place to lie/it's do or die
as I claim my debt/my gun makes you sweat
you've lost your last bet/now I lay you to rest
not to Forgive, but Forget

salvation.

speed freak
in empty streets
does Jesus know
you do these things?
sweet sensation
illusion of power
you hold in your grasp
a thousand hours
tremoring muscles
and quaking pyres
igniting your veins
like electric wires
burying fears
and embracing desires

discovery.

have you ever wished to fly
above the brazen rising sun?
or swim deep beneath the waters
to a place known by none?
have you ever felt the urge 
to commit an unbreakable act?
or vow yourself to others
in a long forgotten pact?
have your fingers ever brushed 
the wings of complete and utter bliss?
or in darkness, met one on one,
with lonely anger, fist to fist?
'to forget your sorrows,' some say
'would seem a beautiful thing'
'but then again,' I quietly suggest
'what would make the birds sing
in the sunny morning clear
if they could not fathom happiness
without first experiencing fear?'

the creation of end.

in Mother's womb
the flower blooms
pink petals of skin
lives yet to begin
soft, secret moments
of then and soon
produce Sacred Chaos
young souls consume
wild flower thoughts
we gather and hold
sharing sweet petals
which shimmer as gold
budding seeds of Beginning
pure Experience untold

only fools cheat.

the milky substance foams
around her pink lips
as she sips
left hand placed
ever so patiently-
ever so politely-
on her waiting lap
manners are the key to success
the Ace in society's deck
she's lost half her hand
over the years
but plays her best bet- 
the Jack of Hearts
she places the pristine mug
on the table's polished surface
lone card up her sleeve,
intuition as her guide,
she gathers her wits,
sheds her pride,
and walks out the door 
in her slow motioned stride