Immortal Peril

How I wish I could go back to a time

When I was yours

And you were mine

 

To have nights of soft conversation

To speak our truths

Without hesitation

 

How I wish in this deep abyss

Of existence

I may remember your kiss

 

It has been centuries

Of clinging to moments

Tactile in memories

 

I have taken lovers since you

Lacklustre blurs

Weary at the thought you knew

 

I really thought you were replaceable

It was a big world

Now it is small and predictable

 

No, you have adamantly stood

Like a thousand year old tree

Your reaching further than you ever could

 

Am I to be cursed with you forever?

Is there more to me

Than my incomplete future?

 

To grow old, feeble, diseased

Looking back with you

Tired but pleased

 

Something that I will never know

Oh my dear

I can never let you go

 

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Forest Cave

In the soul of the forest

Trees crowded in an ancient meeting

Wings beating against your ears

As the secrets I whisper in trust to you

Hang in the fogged air like

The scent of life and death on your skin

Give me your sorrow as I give mine

In this realm connected and out of place

I want to feel every piece

Every quiver like the deer

That is always waiting for something bad

To understand how it is you are here

A man that has walked beside the reaper

Since you were a child

Fear has warped into numbness

The acceptance of chaos

As healing as a fire

That rips through the forest

Enabling the growth of new things

It can never be as it was

Admit to yourself that nothing matters

Yet the sun matters to the canopy

As it reaches for its warmth

Reach for me

Dweller of darkness

Tell your story to the night

Rest your head on the moss

Let yourself pretend for a moment

You are nothing but flowers

Bursting from the ground

Pale and beautiful

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Long Thaw

The ice waters down my whiskey as I sit on the patio.

I enjoy the musical clinks they make as I swirl the liquid.

The trickle of cold-fire douses my throat.

Though the ice never lasts long.

The condensation on the glass becomes my sweat.

I get up, again, and refill the drink with ice.

I glance down at the sausages in my yellowing kitchen.

They thaw in the sink.

Fatty, pink, glistening meat.

That will be blackened in the pan that is no longer non-stick.

The heat ruins all the beauty and reduces it to a puddle of salt.

I’ll keep drinking my whiskey on the rocks.

Til the thawing is done.