Luna

On the full moon
The world is bathed in a pure white light.
Shadows recede and trees become skeletons in the dark.
But the new moon
Has it's own magic.
The new moon is when she leaves the sky
Comes down to earth like a frozen snow
Blanketing hot summer nights in ice and cold silence.
She lives here
For a time
Among the black that has no name.
The source of light herself,
She can see nothing but the trees,
Faded shadows of the creatures she has seen from the skies
On the full moon. 

Sadness

Sadness is in my blood.
It sludges through my veins
Numbing what is not important
To make the pain more intense.
Sadness is in my joints.
My elbows and knees become weak
Heavy with sorrow
My hands hang uselessly at my sides.
Sadness is on my skin.
Prickling like needles,
Hurt manifests itself in a wave.
Sadness is in the tears I will not shed.
Held back,
The effort of keeping them captive makes the sacrifice meaningful.
Makes it ok to grieve.
Sadness is in the words that echo through my mind
Stinging relentlessly like angry wasps that refuse to die.
Sadness is in the whole of me
Unexpected because it is uncommon.
It attacks without warning, without mercy.
Leaving as quickly as it came.
Sadness is my insanity.
The only one I have to my name.

A question in the dark

A lullaby sung with quiet words on soft lips.
What matters most?
When the sun still shines and all is well,
Who can know what their answer will be?
Until the darkness falls and all is silent,
Who can know the sound of a decision made?
The answer to an age old question:
What would you die for?

Glass House

Let me live in a house of glass
Without a wall to hide behind.
To thrive in harmony with the earth,
Open to eyes and in defiance of the worlds lies.
Living honestly out of choice instead of necessity.
There are no secrets in glass hosues.
There are no more secrets for me. 

Green Room

What if life is the green room
And reality is out the door,
Where we are our true selves.
We become instinctive and finally of substance.
Reality is where we are warriors and peace makers.
Where we fight continually against the forces of evil.
In reality we are unfettered by physical laws.
Only the limits of our creativity can hold us.
That is where things take on new and significant meaning.
That is where we feel pain and euphoria,
Where our hearts soar as high as we can.
Compared to that reality
What is waking life but a green room?
A dull, colorless half life of waiting.
Waiting for what will happen next
Waiting to die
Waiting to fall asleep. 

Laundry Day

There was a time, before my time,
When laundry day meant going down to the river.
It meant washboards and elbow grease and freezing fingers.
On laundry day white sheets were strung up on the land,
Billowing in the wind and filtering bright sunlight onto green grass and daffodils.
The sweet smell of soaps must have filled the air,
Alighting gently with the warmth of the sun.
I can just imagine looking down on a little town.
To me it would have seemed like clouds pinned to the ground,
Undulating lazily in the breeze among the flowers.

Waiting

Why is it silent when it snows? It's like the whole earth is holding its breath. The pace of life slows, comes to a stop and sits in what seems like anticipation, just to watch the gentle soundless snow. If nature is truth and truth is God, then what could make God so silent? What is he waiting for?

To Fly

A jagged cliff hangs suspended in empty space. White swirling fog blurs the line between ground and sky, so that the clouds seem close enough to touch, no longer ethereal. No longer distant. My time has come. Nothing above me, nothing below me. There is a universe of possibilities, I know, extending on through the rushing wind, though I can see nothing but what is here with me now. A tree, solitary and worn smooth by weather, perches itself on the cliff face. Branches extend eagerly to the open sky and roots plunge deep into the hard rock, protruding  in places out over nothing, defying gravity and daring it to take effect. I understand the tree. A lone crow take flight with a sudden cry and plunges into the mysterious white heaven that surrounds us. My time has come. With the courage of my tree I reach out a hand into space and take my first step to fly. 

As I Lay Dying

As I lay dying
The stars hang suspended above me. I lay there for so long that they spin in circles around my head. I can feel the earth beneath me, impossibly huge and elegant. As the planet orbits in its graceful circles, I can see forever. 
As I lay dying 
I can feel my body becoming a part of earth itself. Though we are endlessly turning, the earth and I, winding our way through the cosmos, we do not get dizzy. We can see forever. 
As I lay dying 
On the cold cement of my driveway, I inhale once more to smell crisp winter air and frozen ground. I am one breath closer to death, one breath closer to becoming a part of the universe who's images I crave. One day another girl will lay here, where I lay now. 
"Look!" she will whisper to me. "Look. Can you see it? Can you feel it?" 
"Yes" I will reply and wrap her in arms of earth. "I always have."

Pure Snow

White snow blankets the ground, covering the earth in its purity. Innocence. It drains all passion and warmth from everything it touches. People reduced to huddling bundles of fabric. Trees reduced to skeletons. The world to outline and shadow. Only the innocent themselves can enjoy the snow. Small children shape their imaginations into white crystal, as pure as the snow they stand in.
Innocence is a sin. Pure snow hides the worlds true colors, disguising and disfiguring the truth. Ice crusts onto the things that are most important, distorting their shape, making it impossible to see reality. Innocence must be scraped away, chipped like icicles from off the truth, melted by the heat of life's sun. Innocence, like snow, causes nothing but heartache, is nothing but lies. Though the colors are hidden, they are not changed. Truth cannot just be forgotten. Reality can not be ignored. Not without a heavy price. And that price is your innocence. 

Breaking Character

Is this my curse? Is this the life I am consigned to? School, work, marriage, family? Is that it?
That's not enough for me. I want more. God I want more! It's not selfishness. It's not greed. I can't stand it! I can't stand living another minute knowing that this is all that awaits me. And when I die, what then? In any religion, what then? Reincarnated to live another life filled with emptiness!? Eternal life as a God, creating endless worlds just as normal as this one. Forcing others to live this life of mine? It is not ingratitude. It is despair. Complete and utter despair. For though my life will far supersede the lives of normal human beings, though I will make the most of this existence, this is all I will ever be. This is all there ever is. A life so far below any life I could imagine, that the only option seems to be to weep. For what good is anything else?

Macy's in the snow

I watch the rusty shopping carts roll by like a train of the wounded. Snow covered and dripping with half formed icicles, they are rushed into the heated store with the frantic pace of the dying. 
Aware of the peril, I place my heels against the rough ground of the grate, fearing lest I should be rushed into the warmth along with the metal carts on squeaking wheels that always turn just a little bit too far to the right.