in dream

passing by
the ghosts of yore

was emptiness

of a spent desire

did linger in their midst

the phrases
spoken long before

apprised me of such plight

through the semblance
they would know
no more

upon a stolen night

i held them
by my burdened breath

to stave off death’s advance

if only for the chance
to be a voice
that once was heard

the truth of life
each rung

a presence
to remain

no person can outrun
the perils
spun on paths we paved

what followed me
i cannot say

yet save
for what was seen

the moment
i could not awake

they passed me by
in dream


a dormant dimension
once held me
in truth

through eyes
of its shadow unfolding

where somber songs sung
by a wandering siren

foretold tales
of reason

when time sifted
faster than heaven’s farewell

now, at last
as we are

this, that no one can know
before starlight’s collapse

into rapture
wrapped tightly

by nature’s eclipse

were i not
but a semblance

to glimpse worlds
we lost

though wordless

I would meet you there

desert repose

through space
in between

i have seen why
the sun stirs

resplendent in scenes
where the zinnia dwell

to think
all of this
could exist in epistle

spurs dew of sweet bliss

from a desert repose

once driftless

by moonlit implore
have i stumbled

its umbral imbrue
draws no more

barred reflection

should I perish
here today

for to cherish
but the morrow

as the arrow
of our time

has worked its way

yond this splayed flesh

boring deep
within the chasm

spurn the chaos
of my heart

once a sanctum
of ideals

ere the truth
congealed its err

and its story
sadly stolen

by the whispers
of the wind


this season of sorrow
had shifted

for I saw no remorse
in the rainbow’s reflection

her claws left their burden
and bound me
to her law

how she lashed out

and lost
her lone leashed companion

the tall tales of hardship
have taken their toll

though they bind my broken chest
like the first time
I heard death

when its heaven came
tumbling downward


and a desiccance dreary
took reign of my heart


not willfully

i claim no aim
to torture thee

my purpose airs a fleetingness
inherent to expression

ere hashtag-eras “#woeisme”
scant denizens dared
brave the streets

to heed the beckon
of echoes reflected
folding inward

the audience, oft none (plus one)
stayed reticent
shed naught but time

the rigmarole
of rhymes once wrought

to speak the spells
we’d solely sought

to soothe our souls
come Sunday’s sorrow

in the eyes of Eden

pray forgive this poem

for it forever holds this moment