The Only Outside


When all the lights go out

And I sit back, and sigh

I expel my vices yet hold on too tight


I breathe them all back in

All tight and crystal-blue

Translucent, provocative as a church pew


Whispering in my ears

Every “s” like a ssssnake

Sensing something smoldering and saturates


Ears ringing, come to find

White noise comes from inside

Out in space, gasping lips have nothing to hide

Place of The Escape

Between Darkness

She looked across the world and saw naught… The Darkness that was once warred against now overtaking the hearts of the Innocent. We each believe by fighting the Darkness we may defeat it, but that’s rarely the case. While we were not intended to give up, but we were not intended to wage war in this way. We choose the wrong weapons. We grab a hold of more Darkness, further Darkness.

Now, pick up your heart and speak into the hearts of others patiently, calmly. Silhouette vs. silhouette, we become mere counterparts of The Shadow. Grasp the Light. Seize the Love. Shield yourself from the fusillade with steely silence, and pity those lost enough to believe it is the answer. They are mistaken, they know nothing better.

Just as candlelight is the comfort in the cave, so should we strive to be Love in the Hate.

Perhaps we will light one another and burn our way through this curtain.

Place of War Against the Darkness

Rearing Pegasus

One friend sees a Pegasus mustang rearing, prepared for a battle against the Darkness. War is its function.

Another sees a dragon with twisted neck, staring into the Prelude to Darkness, wings already overtaken because it did not take action when Darkness approached its perch. Complacency earns its wages.

A third forsakes the plume for one smaller, seemingly less significant creature. A Mockingjay, escaping the fray altogether unscathed, but not without affliction and a hint of Darkness. All matters begin with the heart; Courage wins the war before the war is made known.

Place of Life

Tree of Life

I recently went to the Grand Canyon with my brothers and sisters, and for a moment, I could breathe.

There are no pictures that will do the Canyon due justice in representing its grandeur, and truly no words in any language that can properly express the joy I experienced with those that I Love. Perhaps an angelic tongue would do.

We sang and heard our voices dissipate as the Canyon walls carried them to the bottom, and yet somehow I believe they could be heard just as clearly by the birds and deer sipping from the Colorado River.

What more need I say?

It was only a few steps from Eden, and this tree, the Tree of Life.

Place Devoid of Shadows

Place Devoid of ShadowsFor one blissful moment, I see your smile. It fills my stomach with frantic butterflies and makes me giddy as a child at a carnival. Your arms outstretched, racing to be caressed by my warmth, not knowing it is you who gives my heart its flame. Our heads lean in, growing nearer until I can all but taste your sweetness. I dream of the moment I delve into you, and you into me, and we swim ever in our insatiable desires, an aqueous, consuming conflagration.

Just as I begin to brace myself for our cascading love, our lips within the same paradise, and yet without… You turn, and your pristine, flushed cheek passes me by, just out of reach in virga seduction. Too soon I make acquaintance with the image of your departure. Your proud shoulders, a wall barring me from the sun and I freeze, my veins ice cold, eyes glazed over.

And for a moment, I despair.

The hope of your return remains a smoldering ember deep within me, but not enough for my frost-bitten fingertips. Unable to reach for returning love, they grow numb and immobile.

For a blissful moment, I see your smile. You round the corner… I knew you would. I give a glance, then turn away before offering any flint or flicker of vulnerability. And as I walk away, I feel the sun’s gentle rays brush my cheek. Their warmth returns and I grasp the cold steel handle of a train bound for the top of a mountain, fingers prickling. I emerge from beneath your shadow, and forsake all others. My True Love beckons me in a place high above the world, a place devoid of shadows.


Little Miss Hobbs, Pt. II

Little Miss Hobbs, pt. II.JPGWhatever Little Miss Hobbs may be, whether angel or human (though I have expressed to you that she is, in fact, human) she always desired the finer things in life. Such cliché manners of describing cliché characters, I know, but as I said, this is not of fictitious origin.

Last I met her, we were deciding on some place to be. Most decide on a place to go, but she and I prefer living each day, moment by moment, therefore not wanting to go, but simply to be.

We had not seen each other in quite some time, and I daresay the last time I saw her, I dubbed her with the title of Little Miss Hobbs, as she seemed adorable in a way that a title ought to express, and Innocence was truly her lot. Eyes, bright as the glint of evening sun off a swingset in a Midwest suburb in July, and voice both knowing and guessing, she was always the Ideal.

When we reunited, however, there was a speck of something different. I do not like to think, nor do I believe, she was touched by Darkness. I didn’t know what to think when we initially embraced and her half-smile forsook my memory of her, but as you shall see, it was not Darkness inside her. However, I do not doubt it cloaked her, even coated her breath. Her brows furrowed further than I had e’er seen them, and in a way that I didn’t know if they could un-furrow. Her voice, a bit more raspy and laden with a heaviness.

Life had been cruel to her, and understandably so. She did not deserve the unfortunate mishappenings that overwhelmed her, but these days, the world is all too eager to snuff out Innocence, replace it with Darkness, and claim the Wisdom of Hate is just the way of the world. She knows better than that, and that much I could see break through her weary smile and in her hopeful eyes. That flame inside her is flickering – but an ember of its former self, but the fact of the matter is that it has not yet been extinguished, and by God, that is the most difficult test one must overcome to be even remotely like Little Miss Hobbs.

After our greeting, we walked around in an abandoned downtown-esque area that was rather pleasant, albeit hot and humid. We came across a coffee shop and I, mistaking her countenance for mere tiredness, suggested we grab a cup. We poked out heads into a small shop, no more than twenty feet wide by fifty deep, and plenty tall, to inquire about the operating hours. We were greeted by a rather elderly man with a round, bald head, slumped only slightly at the shoulders, eyes weighed by his years of experience, skin brown like a Pacific islander, and demeanor like that of a grandfather eager to tell a story. He had closed up shop two and a half hours earlier, but told us he often brewed for willing customers after hours, and seemed to truly enjoy his little space. Greg greeted Little Miss Hobbs and me at the counter as we discussed things of the world and the weather, suggesting item after item on the menu, closing in on what beverage would be most suitable for a day, place, and time like that.

Greg was the most independent thinking and living human I’ve met in quite some time, after Miss Hobbs, of course, and admitted to running the shop all by himself for reasons all just and good for many years. His favorite part, he said, was the company. I beg to offer the idea that it was his company that made other people pleasant for conversing with. The atmosphere he provided did not have room for anything less than pleasantries, jokes, and lighthearted conversation. Mayhaps one or two deep conversations could be had, but only if they concluded in a manner where all might still smile.

After a few more moments in the shop, Little Miss Hobbs and I walked the side-streets, discussing Greg and our best wishes for him and all those like him (though, I admit, I do not believe there are many in this world like him), and decided where next to be.

In her seemingly infinite wit and Wisdom, she decided the best place was atop, or slightly below the top, of a hillside at an adorable place known as Roosevelt Park. She always seems to know where to be, and when, though I daresay she did not know the grandeur the world would display itself in, as we were both taken aback in gasps and tears.

The fire that lit the sunsetting sky that evening was every ounce of what you could ever measure Perfect in. Even moreso was sitting next to Little Miss Hobbs in that moment. She saw the Beauty in the world in a way that few ever do, but that resonates in my heart. It was there, on that hillside with the sunset and volcano backdrop, that she told me just a few of the causes of her sadness. A broken heart, a haunting past, and nightmares that, rather than weakening her, I think prove her strength, Love, and consideration for others above herself. I don’t know if she sees it that way, but I refuse to let go of my view of her.

She is only human, she is imperfect, but she is still wonderful…

She’s the type of person who pours you a cup of tea, and after an hour of sitting there, you realize the tea’s gone cold yet you’re still warm inside.


A Horizon Away

Sunflower Sunset

Somewhere between the sunset and the storm, I wait

Some say the day is done

Some say the night is young

Something tells me anticipation won’t abate


Pretending that I’m basking in the golden rays

Prefer to be someone

Prepare for a numb tongue

Predisposed to silent awe in deluge and flames


Now coming on the wing to the valley of gray

Now destined for freedom

Nowhere but straight above

Nowness moved clouds, the horizon now at arm’s length


My heart flutters in flight and cannot find its stay

My heart under the gun

My heart longs for the sun

My heart roots hold fast, blind to Wild they can’t contain


Living is just a horizon away