Crow -

Fifty thousand crows file in and silently take their seats; the lights are dimmed and the movie of my life is played. Black feathers are still; sharp beaks protrude, some contorted. A light cawing is heard throughout. Dark eyes are seen staring in the glare of projector screen light. 

Raven in my Dreams (amended repost)


A raven follows me in my dreams. She watches with a keen eye. Her dark feathers make her impossible to be seen in the dark place. She has always been there, watching, observing. She has witnessed my deep suffering and she knows my plight. In the dark place, I stumble trying to find my way out. I cannot see my hands in front of my face. The raven’s piercing cries are my only signal. The dark place refuses to let me go; it is a parasite that feeds on me day and night. It renders me lethargic. It allows just enough life for an existence, but nothing more.

I am breathing but I have not lived in years. It slowly drains my life force as I crawl toward the cries of the raven. My movements are slow and my will almost non existent. The raven beckons me, but I don’t know where. I had seen a light here before in the distant past but the dark place has hidden it from me. What I would give for just a glimpse of that light, to see it at least once more.

. . . My thoughts consume me.

I crawl on to my unknown destination in the dark place. The raven flaps her wings ahead in the distance. Will I escape or am I resigned to my fate? The question I ask myself is almost rhetorical as the hope I once had is blown away like leaves in the wind. My blood boils as I think about the years of torment in this place. I will gather up my will for one last valiant try.

The raven senses my resolve. 

Desideria Cordis

I had waited for her in my dreams for a thousand years. My bones cried out from that desolate and dry place where men perish and are forgotten. She came to me; I was not deserved of her love, but she came to me. Only the tears of a man could tell such things of the heart. The depths of me were a dry well but she poured out her soul to me and I became an oasis.

 My love, kiss me with a kiss the gods themselves would be envious of; let them be jealous of our love. The scent of you is like an expansive field of white gardenias; the length and beauty of your hair is like a waterfall in a lush rain forest; the sincerity of your eyes impassions me, and moves me to tell you secrets of long held feelings for you; your lips are as sweet as honey and soft as rose petals in the morning dew. 

Together we will cross the night seas just you and I; your hair blowing in the summer wind. The moonlight reflecting on your shimmering beauty is a sight to behold. The natural essence of you … words can’t adequately describe. In this moment, in this precious moment, I vow a vow to you. Let the moon and the stars be witnesses and let the night seas record my words and my feelings for you. I love you. If there were ever a time that you may not have known: I love you with all my heart.

Kiss me now, and let me live again. Reborn in love, and anew in the sunshine of your smile.

Beauty and Agony

In a short silk white robe tortured beauty lies listless on a French daybed. Strewn empty wine bottles and scattered pills linger on the floor. A picture of her smiling brightly with her parents atop of the fireplace sits in its frame. In her pain she looks up and remembers the days of her joy; she stretches forth her arm toward the photo as if reaching for a piece of heaven. In her listlessness she is paralyzed; tears run and fall from long lashes, flawless makeup and beautiful eyes.

The Gathering

In that place that wretched place where men weep in agony; where loud cries are let out and the sincerest of tears are shed. Where pain is unceasing and reprieve is sought night and day; where one’s eyes grow accustomed to the darkness; the cold dampness; the desolation. Where the soul is stripped to the bare bones and even deep down into the marrow. Where arms stretch forth for light in vivid dreams but awaken once more to the darkness; where time is useless and irrelevant and despair slowly stifles. Where tired feet stumble and weary eyes can cry no more. 

They wait and gather for an awakening. They wait and gather in a sudden falling of silence. They wait and gather for the light that will come. Together they wait.


Dancer’s Ballad (joy once more)


With tears in her eyes she dusts off her old satin ballet slippers.
In darkness she gracefully dances once more;
Pointed toes grace finely polished wooden floors.

She is not broken;
She is not too old;
She is not cast away.

If she had danced in front of an audience they would have cried.
She composes a wonderful poem with her movements;
Her ballad is beautiful; my god, it’s beautiful.

In silence, only her movements can be heard;
She dances to the song in her heart.
Fluid movement; She flows … she is a river.

The twinkling stars give thunderous applause.