Life

in the morning,

before the doubt,

before the poison,

anything is possible,

the world is bright and new,

fresh and alive,

but then like the morning

it is gone,

as reality sets in;

I wait outside her domain

like a dog in heat,

I listen to her voice

pounding within,

like ocean waves

on a dark angry night,

she holds me in arms

of shifting winds,

without shape or form.

life is full of so much wasted time,

wide open spaces and moments

in-between the only ones that count,

long drawn out hours of insufferable

boredom,

highlighted by seconds of indescribable

pleasure;

life is a never ending orgasm,

working and struggling,

building and rising,

working for just one

short burst,

one quick release;

I want a place to hide,

a shelter from the storm,

safety in the wilderness,

a home within the night;.

what words can be said for this?

what salvation, what mercy,

what redemption?

there are places

where hope does not walk,

places where love has no home,

where light does not shine,

truth does not speak,

down here words fail,

seasons become blurred;

is it wrong to give up?

is it wrong to let go?

we come so close,

reaching and touching,

knowing and seeing,

hearing and feeling,

so close,

yet so impossibly far,

flowing like underground rivers,

hidden,

alone;

silent;

fires burn bright,

stars blaze through the night,

yet we see only the shadows,

moving through rising tides,

surviving extravagant excess,

hiding among the corners,

day after day we wait,

as miles become like dead stones

wrapped around the necks

of fools and lovers,

hour by hour we survive,

selling flesh inch by inch,

smiling at reflections in the dust,

crumbling before the edges,

with nothing in return.

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