My Shadow

Fibers of my darker side,
I drag the bag behind me,
Born empty but it wasn’t long
before someone started to fill it.

Parents first, for all their love,
began with sorrow, then the guilt.
It is not just at twilight
that shadows grow long.

Oh dark, accusatory duffle,
Deep satchel of indiscretions;
all the things I should have done
but didn’t, or did but shouldn’t,

I embrace you.
You are the obstacles
that I have overcome;  You could not exist
if there were no light.

To Be…

We take the risk of being overwhelmed
to touch one toe into the briny sea.
Illusions, spells, fantasies;
a million shattered blisses that understand
earth holds no resolution for the hungry soul
but treasures its shell in a deep and mossy grave.

One dies many times when drowning answerless,
no ground beneath the feet;
fragments of debris the only proof of existence,
but no dry stone could better signify
our tiny blip on the timeline
of to be.

Neither fog nor smoke —
the clouded mind nor the clever tongue —
can find the truth or hide it
when the wind is at the door
and the tide is rising.  The skyline,
ever changing,  fades like history rewritten.

Origami Moon

There is no such thing
as an origami moon;
some things can’t be made out of paper,

You can carve a planet
out of an apple,  or extrude
plastic roses to your heart’s content,

But it’s evident, and I’m sure I’m right,
the best you can hope for from a man-made moon
is the promise of artificial light.

 

The Moon and Dawn in Passing Nod

In the peace of contemplation
when night is comfortably astir,
the moon sneaks in my window
leaving streaks of silver
in my hair.

A multitude of memories
untouched by time’s extent
rise and swirl around me
like a candle’s drifting scent.

Shadows on the wall
sway to their own symphony,
drifting safely towards oblivion
as the pyrite moon is fading
into new morning light.