The inn seemed precariously placed upon the steep face of the mountain, held in place by a few well-placed beams and a lattice of weather-worn wood. To hear the building creak in the middle of the night was to quietly wonder if this was the day it was to fall into the valley below. Sitting … Continue reading The Mountain Inn
This warning was written,Upon the ruins of state,Made by poor shadows:"I am the danger of pride,The end of all cruel empires."
Freezing rain falling,Cutting through this knit muffler,Wrapped around my head,Whenever I sigh through it,I thank you for your present.
An old box of notes,Our loving correspondence,Yellowed with neglect,The words now illegible,Yet your perfume clings to them.
Black lake, dark as night,Glimmering with nothingness,Drifting clouds reveal(In this shy embrace, broken),A moon close enough to touch.
Winter lends coolness,To the raw heat of the day,Killing misty dreams.Lovers cling together, inDesperate idolatry.
I've a bit of broken in me,I'm not sure what it is,But it doesn't really hurt either,Time is the healer of all wounds,But what can repair the damage,Of a thing supposed to be broken?
The pen hovers still,Frozen like midwinter thoughts.While ink slowly dries. How did I write, then,In those days before you came,Bringing me such joy?Now that you are gone from me,My shattered art weeps such words. Joy taught me the skills,That gives life to hollow thought,Arranged in sad forms.