The white shadows form frozen ghosts.
They quietly flit about in static light
and in the darkness of negative space,
I find long forgotten vigils to those not yet imagined
scattered across the abyss like cryogenic dreams
and dancing with an angel on the tip of a needle
until their balance sways and heads toward
points of nullification.
A deep void made of ten thousand shadows.
I become the angel on the tip of a needle
pulling off my own wings
and hoping for a soft landing.
The reasons too many to recollect.
The consequences too hard to fathom.
So, I close my eyes.
The rushing wind becomes my bride.
The air whispers truths and vindications
and the blurring world fades past.
No earth will slow my descent.
No touch will deny my destiny.
No names to fog my clarity, only this...
a silent soliloquy to love's loss.
Memories of ghosts drowning,
in rivers of my own longing,
cannot help to douse the fire of green hope.
As the moments push me further,
they won't let me forget.
I plunge through the mirror.
The surface merely ripples,
reflections dilute and then disappear.
The fall gives way to a sickening rise.
When I open my eyes, everything
and nothing has changed
except for the eyes of March
staring down into my soul.
Seeing more than I am able
and pushing the stars away.
I relinquish my ideals
and give in.
Set down among the dewdrops and nettles
a razor takes form across my heart.
Quiet slashes remove malignant memories
of lost love...lost truth...lost moments
and before the sins appear,
I am bathed in the light
of her innocence long forgotten
redeeming the monster within
to almost child-like savagery.
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