Some Days

Some days

Rain is daggers that pierce the earth

The small bodies of its blood that create

Feared reflections

When left to stare into their faces.

Some days

Rain is a kiss from the unknown

A gift from the light that hides above it

Cleansing the past and solididfying

A gilded future.

Some days

A dream is a camera

Full of forgotten fears

And wingless birds of when

When things were…

When I was…

When…

Some days

A dream is a blanket fort

Held sturdy by white string and rebellion

Of the photographs

It protects even those who use rock and tree

And the meek existences they battle.

Every day

Skies tell us they’ are blue

Grass says green

And roses say red

Every day

Is the light and warmth of a speck in the vast blackness

And the blindness and burns it leaves behind.