It’s wicked dark
I hunger here
The lightening comes
But raindrops fear

The rushing thunder
Beats my ears
It’s wicked dark
I hunger here

I hide among the dying leaves
I hide among the empty stares
The rushing thunder
Beats my ears

The flies and dust collect my tears
The smell of earth lies in my hair
I hide among the dying leaves
I hide among the empty stares.

The sweat is rolling soft and sick
The sun, it bleeds into a glare
The flies and dust collect my tears
The smell of earth lies in my hair

I close my eyes for sweet escape
My heart is beating so far away
The sweat is rolling soft and sick
The sun, it bleeds into a glare

My skin is burning from the blaze
My flesh is flowing toward decay
I close my eyes for sweet escape
My heart is beating so far away

go look at the sea for me
those sweet slips of water
lightly covering that sugar sand
that delicious land.

go hold the trees for me
those ancient limbs
those long memories
those precious old books.

go speak to the mountains for me
read my love letter to them
steal long glances from cool corners
of those placid figurines.

go dance in those breviloquent showers
soak up those short words that drip
drip, drip- drip down your face
washing away the heat's embrace.

go feel the heart beat
the deep sighs of that place
the goodness and lacking
the humanity, the grace.

go look at the sea for me.

what awake lies here in broad nightlight?
that which is meant to be so dark here
somehow gives strength to the plight.

dimmed journey unwavering takes its weight
two steps farther, not forward nor backward
but slightly in to the direction of fate.

and bones rattle more quietly as flesh becomes
part of an awkward figure standing almost alone-
heart beating violently as it moves through the slums.

revitalization is a long time coming to this soul
and the body in this battle finds relentless
it’s champion shoveling on the hot coal.

at reprieve this child steps out of the fire
fully clothed in robes of silver and gold
and willingly that figure wades back to the mire.

and nights become days as this life grows
far beyond the mind of a child and all that it knows.

Walking in the rain, in autumn, cold holds my face
And with a bitter kiss reminds me of why I love
The fall and the smells cause me to reminisce of days
That feel like another life, lived as a child and I remember
Sitting under an old parked bus, but suddenly the memory
Is clarified and verily there I sit in the castle of yesterday.

The most exquisite of all those minutes between now and yesterday,
And the handsome prince, declares his devotion as he holds my face-
And yet that novel idea of true love’s first kiss fades into memory,
And the breath of autumn reminds me that such fairytale love
Is something from a book and not readily, truly remembered
By anyone, who may once have claimed it, these days.

And the setting sun reminds me of the length of autumn’s days-
Sweet, but too often shortened by the thoughts from yesterday.
And for a moment I pause along my route, trying to remember
What it was that so easily took me away from the traumas that I faced-
Was it the magic of childhood, or the power of some divine love,
Reaching out with a warm blanket of fairytale memories?

The darkness of autumn, made into something less than a memory
And more of a story, an enchantment of lighthearted days-
A youth of privilege and humor, mysticism and love.
This childhood was magical, and yet it had no yesterday,
No moment in reality, no name to go with its face-
It is a gentler memory, than the one I dare not remember.

But perhaps this autumn I will allow myself to remember,
Open the door to the little bedroom of my memory,
Painted pink roses dancing on the wall, and a face
With a name to remember for all of my days-
A simple name for my yesterday,
A name that I do not love-

And yet it is love
Which allows me to remember
Heartbreaking yesterdays
And still have memory
Of mystical days
As a princess would usually face.

And in love, healing moves memory
To remember promised days-
Some yesterday, and some left to face.

That stench of our humanity-
Is the reality of who we are,
It should not prevent community.

We do not have to be in congruity
As we desperately attempt to bar
That stench of our humanity.

When we hide behind our vanity,
Resurfacing our scars,
It should not prevent community.

When we say this is Christianity
Truthfully, it should not be far
That stench of our humanity.

When who we are reveals brutality,
Brokenness, displayed in a jar,
It should not prevent community.

Our damaged souls give opportunity,
That way that we’ve been marred,
That stench of our humanity-
It should not prevent community.

Windows, like so many figures, reveal
What is within and out of which we see,
Exposing at once yet used to conceal
Disheveled rooms and external debris.

Sometimes believed to show what is to be,
Gazing through former and minding present-
Imagining seeing what sets them free
To escape staring through windows content.

Blinking, through tears or blinding sun, intent
On walking through doors instead of staring
Through windows, dreaming with tacit consent,
Of life being lived, bland and uncaring-

Leave the mind’s windows, the past is forgone,
Be immersed by life, not alone looking on.