Writing

Dear Writing,
    I guess you already know what this is about.
    I guess since this is really to myself, I should feel foolish
    But I need to thank you for everything
    I need to thank you for letting me live a thousand times over
    I need to thank you for letting me fall in love a hundred times over
    I need to thank you for letting my characters fight and struggle
    I need to thank you for letting me teach my characters
    I need to thank you for letting my characters teach  me
    Thank you for everything, for the good stories and the bad ones
I wish I'd never written, for the good characters and the evil ones,
for the moments of fear and adrenaline, for the moments of heartbreak
and homecoming.
     Again, I know this is foolish but seems appropriate all the same, since
I know without writing, I'd just vegetate in front of the TV and I'd be so
much less.
      Is that too selfish a thing to think?

Last Night

Red, crackling veins burning
under my flesh
                                    Heartbeat
A statue, afraid to breath,
to break the stillness of the world
Wanting, powerful, raw, animal
pouring into my blood
                                    Lust
Open my eyes, realize
I'm not there, but here,
alone

Tell me
     is it a sin to dream?

Hope

Walking on an icy path
    trying to keep my balance

        a glint, a piece of sun

embedded in my eye.

Pick it up, run my fingers over
           the sharp edge

A delicate feather in my palms

    blood on my fingertips

The little thing called hope

Flash

Pale light
  of frosty sunrise

Sudden, instant knowledge
     a rubber band second
   blinding ray of sun

Acrid stench, shuddering
 

Dandelion Seeds

Come sit beneath these shivering leaves
among the dandelion seeds
     Kneel in the grass, bow your head
     before the altar of peeling bark
     made from half formed figures
     drawn by ancient priestesses
Listen to the trees moan in the wind
as they whisper their secrets to
the earth and sky
     At the root of the altar,
     lay an offering of a single
     fading petal for beauty,
     a rock worn smooth for strength
     and an eagle's feather for wonder
Come sit beneath these shivering leaves
among the dandelion seeds

Linger Too Long

The sky is still here
  it should have gone away,
flown south for the winter
  Gray clouds with no pictures
should linger overhead,
  promising to cover the valley
in pieces of white
  But still the sky lingers

Pale blue