We cling so tightly to our truth
that we miss insight,
We long for a world in our image
so we remove different,
We don’t want to be wrong,
so we insult instead.
We don’t want to self reflect,
so we don’t listen.
We; are lost.
Your pure cotton shirt catches the wind,
unfurling a sail on a mediterranean road. With a bright sunny nonchalant freedom
you toss away words, happy apple cores.
Be yourself, share yourself, be vulnerable,
each a final testament of an impossibility.
I cast a smile at your brown eagle eyes,
the warrior in me bravely chiseling away.
Faggot, sissy, stop crying, be a real man. The child feebly asks you for compassion,
as he blundering tries to heal old wounds.
I hang my hope on the wings of wild paper cranes.
Dancing regally in the wailing white winter snow.
I pray to the gods of the forsaken and the unbelievers.
Living in a darkened land of black and white desolation.
I bend my tired fingers around the folds of a thousand words.
Bringing you back to me in the colourful blossoms of spring.
Picture Credit: Vincent Manier
Lilith is the violinist, the violin, the note
stretching like a grant jeté across a stage.
She’s the summer straw hat ray of sun
breaking through sad face winter clouds.
She’s the last grateful smiling hallelujah
in the mournful choir humming a cappella.
Lilith is the steel blue motionless whispers,
of that arresting gaze demanding silence.
Lilith is the hushed interlude drawing you
to the heart of an interstellar black hole.
She’s the winged child serpent goddess
contained in an eruption of angelic power.
Lilith is the innocence of desire calling
in passion to be beheld but never owned.
Your cries I will hear not
Not from your bell towers
or your minarets
Your inner chambers
or from your public places
There is a child crying
It calls me by my name
you hear it not
You say that thing is not mine
So I say I know you not.
I traced the skin of your back
like an explorer charting a map
a beautiful new blue ocean.
Where I discovered an island
fitting in the palm of my hand
it became home to me.
In endless hours of the night
when your heart beat drums
a new life raft next to me
Street lamps with grey heads bowed
Stoically shed the cold midnight tears,
abandoned by drifting autumn clouds
unable to carry the burden any further.
Creating glittering babbling streams
carrying away the last stubborn grief,
painful words of discarding goodbyes,
to a wide forgetful ocean of yesterday.