Turning

Controlled by crippling thoughts of resentment,
we became the universe.

A thanks to the deck of cards dealt,
a hand of luck and shame.

We turned hand in hand,
while floating in mid air.

Staring at others before us,
and you are not new to this.

A small child in the back of a cab,
frozen eyes because he stole momma's quarters.

Mothers chilled by their attempts to convince the dealer of her cards is wrong.
Sick in the head.

Floating hand in hand,
and we are the universe.

Turning,
turning.

i am a tool.

Your big black owl eyes will be the death of me
but I will turn strong against winds sent.

A bath of warmth to the infant
crying and bare.

Reassurance of morning melts into the walls of rooms small and locked.

The nuns across the hall are too excitable,
flowers fresh compliment the naked sense of purity
while I reminisce on days we spent tied up between feathered layers
cuffing our together breaths.

I don't know it yet, but soon I will bear all of my soul

Pandemonium

When the room is still,
I attempt to resemble the twin of pandemonium.
Not for the eyes to watch,
but for the noiseless walls to diminish.

A comfortable place, it is.
Being face to face with the concept of disposition.
So sweet and still is the room.

Like a Moth

With simple intentions,
much like a moth, I will
hover over lights.

The heat I can't endure,
but my body is addicted.
It's light is God-like, and true.

My fragile wings exhibit
the years I've spent beneath
these lamps. Shadeless and unguarded.

Heads turned as my frame
was electrocuted by what I loved.
I came to close. Why so close?

5/5/10

In isles we sit, styrofoam cups accompany our grasp.
Legs shaking, one voice echoing throughout the room.
The waves of his tone bouncing off of every corner.
Shuffled movement,
All I can hear is the rain outside.
All I can hear is the rain outside.

Open Hearth Meeting

The planks above our heads have lights on them.
Three on each limb, shining a sense of purity onto the bodies below them.
I can't distinguish the difference from my worries and my hears.
These lights are shining on us, and as every mouth spits out stories untold and memories that lay for so long at the bottom of their stomachs, i sit and wonder why those lights are so damn bright.
in my head, these lights, they shine.
And in my heart, I am afraid of my worries.

Blue Back Drop

Ingrained within the disconnected sisters is the controversy of routine tests done by doctors.
Every calculation and bits of bad news join together on a blue back drop.
The photo of this happy family is taken and in the assembly line this paper goes,
Someone decides to shine light on the chills on each relatives back, so easy and words so sweet flew out of their mouths while trying to move their feet.
A colony of ants dancing at the bottom of their eyes for years, committed to make a sea roar and tumble down their cheeks.
Some said their thoughts were enchanted, that this family was made of ancient breaths.
Harmless locals held words with their tongues, trapped in the caves of their throats, and reporters stare with honest eyes,  freezing frames of that happy family, blue back drop and dancing ants on their eyes.
The sea has swallowed them up, roaring at those who remain silent.

no one laughs at god

lost in the fragile clutch of your hand in mine, we stood tall,
not phased by the cold because the energy that floated from the palm of my right hand, to the palm of your left was warmer than Nana's fireplace on christmas.
our grace and ambition dismissed the thought of hesitation, and in an instant we created hills and skies of beauty and devotion.
we planted gardens of trust with altruism for all things pure.
never did we struggle to build this sphere,
for it spun and floated like many other.
we were home.