Doth in a day

Doth one protest thy deepest fears
Or doth one forget them
to let the winds whisk uncertainty
as it whisks away last year's leaves

Thy hopes dashed as
one smashes the butt of a cigarette
into the tray to destroy
the lingering flame.

Fire, it doth run within
trapping the hopes of freedom
behind lies and fear.

My eyes doth drift towards blackness

The Epic Hope

Here is a story for the ages

One I hope you'll hear

And wish upon a star above

That maybe, this is more

than just an old wives' tale.

There was once a sea witch

Trapped in stone

Forever the object of scorn.

She caused the twenty years' war

The sailors swore.

As she silently pleaded with

those seafolk- who forgot.

The stories faded 

but she remained

A relic.

Of times no longer known.

Stories, just stories.

Always just stories.

Her one hope

Was that love existed.

That love would rescue her.

She had been deceived by sailor.

He promised her many things.

She gave him power 

Gave him strength.

He stole the throne 

and left her alone.

To suffer the rage 

of the cities.

They hunted her and 

planned to slaughter her

as her lover had slaughtered 

the ones they loved.

She swallowed a stone.

The mermaid sits on a pedestal.

Always watching for 

the love she craves to know

Hope keeps her heart beating.

Catapult

I.

Shot through the sky
Burning as though on fire.
I sung for a second; I burned so bright.

Then I was snuffed out.
Destroyed as one lets a sparkler
fizzle into the night.

II.

Dear heart of stone
Let me break you
That you might be rebuilt

Into a home for the homeless
Or a place of refuge
I need to hurt you, to heal you.

III.

I cannot feel anything.
The air, it chokes me.
All is lost

I was so stupid
To have hoped I was more-
than a king's pawn.

Love Lost

Some (not me) find love easy
to garner and hold.
Others (not me) find love challenging
but luck is there to give them hope.

Then there is me-
Luck's long gone
and love is lost.
Just a four letter word
That falls on deaf ears

That die to hear
the whispers of
a lover.

Thrice I knocked

One, Two, Three
The door was locked.
I stood upon the lintel
Hoping that I would find

The Rest I sought.

Instead the door
stood still against cold
drafty winds
raging against raw skin.

They said my love was here.
The joke's on me.
I guess I should have known
That I'd hoped in vain.