I see

The scattered remains

Glinting

The broken glass

Of relationships past

Feet bloody

Immune to the shards

I care not 

About sparkling glitter

I see

Clear fields of calm pastures

Surrounding

The you

Imperfect but pure

Diamond hands

Streaked with red

I care not

About suffering alone

Cling

To your humanity

Dress-up doll

Don't loosen your grip

On your unfounded pride

The silly thing

You call dignity

The more you treasure

The more you fool yourself

The greater the pain

You shall feel

You are the wind

Catching a falling feather

Gently caressing it

In your brief embrace

Wind so free

It never settles

I can wait

For your return

As the sea waits for you

But as the sun 

And the moon

Shed some light

On me

I don't mind the whip

Of a hand through air

I don't care about hiding

The marks

Don't mind the tears

And cries

Don't care about the blood

Which dries

Bruises fade

And broken bones heal

They are nothing

Give me

Something

To hold on to

I am a rope

Broken

Worn by time

Threads

Breaking

One by one

Snapping 

Like the cackle of the crow

Slicing through silence

Falling as soon

As it rose

Forgotten

Sun beats like a drum; swallowing the work of sandpaper. Birds scatter like shadows at the crinkle of parchment paper. It seems there is a visitor.

Shivering like the string tied to a balloon lost to the air; it is too hot for eating fresh baked pie whose essence invades the air even before completion. Steps leave no mark of having been made, an existence even more meaningless than the puff of air which dissipates, having only caught in the air long enough to be missed. Single steps are easier traveled.

Phantom light, and phantom dark, dance like the flames of a fire in the hearts of faces, reflecting like a drop of water on the smooth surface of a deep lake. Laughter seems a mask, a waterfall obscuring the unyielding cliff. Pages a silent relief from noise weary travelers.

The tapping of a pen silent condemnation, condescension, cool confirmation of the utter uselessness of communication –never understanding, never listening, never looking past the glass door so fragile it shudders at the breath which falls upon it. Time aging as the warm blanket of darkness lessens the notice of cold blooded killers, silent in its eternal being, calm in its unfazed existence. No movement to be made against the unshakeable wall, no attempts or even wishes of such.

Shortened days mark the release from metal bars, as if the cake half-eaten must be savored for fear of loss, the eaten forgotten as though never there; bars withdrawn in mockery of the chains which bind further –they had served well as the markings of a butterfly, eyes where they are not, warnings in the form of color a rainbow of lies. Wandering to decrease the time spent in misty nothingness a welcome pastime if kept hidden.

Leaves cry like a newborn child want for attention; stream the soothing murmur of a mother worn from caring. Like a newborn fawn unsure, like the last bud not bloomed for fear of being, hair a mess of forgotten beings too small to notice if one cared not. It seems the visitor is shy.

The slow slither of a snake advancing as the waves on a shallow beach, the calm envelopment of the steam which dances on the surface of water too hot to handle, the meeting of ammonia in cabbage juice takes time to adjust as features fuse on generations past and future. Warmth is always in existence, as silence is never complete; hidden from the eyes of a train on its track, known only to some, as a demon chooses those who shall see –the rest contained in the shell of a clam being polished as a riverbed eroded. The only gift to be offered to the visitor –the only gift which can be offered to the visitor –gladly given.

Darkness for once a welcome friend. Viciousness of falling leaves smothering, piling, rotting, guarded against by the dancing of wind running through time, the friend of all and hostile to none. As consciousness slips as a drop of dew from a rose, the sense of protection grows as it always seems to when one finds a place of belonging.

Sweet dreams, child of the forest.

Stained bears sit at attention

Before them chicks laid on a

no-longer-white sofa

Wrapped in a robe

Soft as the newborn sky

Fearing to become

One of them

Colors bright

They overwhelm

Overlapping

Swirling

Mixing

Screaming

They guide

Dragging

Pulling

Kicking

They hold

Prisoner

You a prisoner

Tainted by every touch

Stained by every whisper

Meant to lead

But led

Lead

Meant to shine

Shone

Stone

Stuck

You're stuck

Piling up

You can't

You can't

Freeze

Blind

You blind

No colors to lose

No colors too loose

Black

The one you know

These violent delights have violent ends

You listened as words mingled with dripping

Silence as heavy as nightfall

Covered your shattered ears

These violent delights have violent ends

You thought as the slashing turned to feathers caressing

White oblivion

Shaded the colored world

These violent delights have violent ends

You heard as alcohol stung

The chattering chains

Released their metallic grasp

These violent delights have violent ends

You carried as shadows clung your feet

Red beckoned

A comforting friend

These violent delights have violent ends

You fell head rolling

Jade words never to reach

If only they first could .

It.

May come in your time.

When it awakes.

When it is birthed.

It.

Is what you fear.

What you are brought. 

to fear.

You have never known.

It.

And never shall you.

For when it is birthed.

The world will shatter.

The sky consumed.

Bridges shredded like melted plastic.

Buildings popped like sealed bags.

Earth disintegrated like cotton candy.

It.

Shall rise alone.

Forever regretting.

Forever to wander.

The broken world.

It destroyed.