Writing, Ideas, & Stories
My heart was your shield
the night the pitch forks came.
Into the steamy fields under
blood moon. Their screams
carried deep into the night.
Anger and fear clouded
their humanity, telling them
to burn.
Burn, burn until everything
is blood red. No devil can save you.
Run through the fields
my heart will be your shield
so you can fight for another.
Pinwheeling through it.
Gentle breeze blows the house
to pieces. Your labeled
The Big Bad Wolf.
Pieces will lie on the
cold Earth for an
unmeasurable amount of time
before it heals.
The contractor never
makes eye contact. Shamefully
assembling the remains as
a toddler builds a playhouse.
The pinwheel spins
until the next great gust.
He once told me the sky was green.
I never questioned him and
without a grain of doubt
behind his trusting grin
I never thought to.
He once told me the world was flat.
Bare footed walks along the
ocean side watching the waves
peak across my toes
before it drowned over the edge.
He once said I would die alone.
Clenching knee’s
drifting into an ocean of sorrow
waiting for the sky
to revert to ocean blue.
We couldn’t make it across the canal.
Waves tossed our tiny canoe before,
before sinking.
The ocean wasn’t always the terror.
The cool calmness sheltred our
boat along the icy tides.
Similiar to before we got on.
The dry lands fuled our
adventure, we didn’t know
it would be our last.
Stampede the living and
forgive the dead.
The brilliant came up short
in a foot race for discovery.
We failed as a team.
Pacing a baton one by one
even though the end was near.
I’ll never forget that race.
We came to destroy each other
and left hand in hand.
If I take away anything,
I can speak from the heart.
Watched it burn down to the end
and let the hose fall.
They said no one was left inside.
Truly left burned
we said quiet prayers
until the end was the beginning.
We never had a chance to clear the air,
before beating flames
and sacred ashes.
We passed on secret notes
steamed in begging flames
struck with forbidden steel
forged into gold names.
Aim to stick the landing
we never focused on the take off
your form was left wanting
the stairs you took we’re shaped by the greats before you.
Did you send a prayer to the god’s?
The old and the new.
They warranted your return
and you didn’t listen.
Word to the wise fell on swollen time.
Years wasted in your corridor waiting,
waiting for you to answer the phone.
Waiting for you to write the letter,
a reminder of the words;
we will leave this corridor together.
I framed my indecencies placed
on a mantle like a might steed.
