the sun rises cold, the mocking
Begins from the Off
from the moment my eyes,
struggle to open
every day, I wish.

Lost,
When your Voice
Leaves my Ears, When
your syllables

the first crackles of.
a fire, an Electric
baseboard. the heat, not yet
Permeated, Beginning
to seep in,

On nights when rain Falls
steadily upon the wood and
shingles of a solid roof, across a
Wooden house,
Then

Of cold wind, plenty,
Of warm Hearth,
it trickles through numb fingers.
I find myself, looking, far
Beyond thin, Bare
Branches
Beyond

A child with an open palm,
Trying to catch slivers
Of silver smoke, thinking
Softly of salvation
Finding only
Confusion

the Rustle of leaves
in a cold Autumn breeze
Whispers of future Frost
place their palms on the windows, and within,

Those wings, which
Fly me into the Earth, which
Drive me into the Worst, of myself
How do I find them again?
How do I, Where do I Search
and Why

Breathless, Lost in the middle
the In Between

Chained to truth, Bound to honor
a foot apart yet miles away
my heart can sway, but i
Cannot waver

green leaves, gray, but
when do they change? and for Whom
are they within, or without?
i heard the ripple
of Soft Whispers
Wind on the Water.

Hard rain, soft Clouds in the sky
to walk amongst them, I surmise
an earthly Flight, and no return
Or miniscule life, to Crash and Burn