We The Free

Each pitch was perfect

echoing throughout

the deserted auditorium

The light above burning

to their fullest potential

only the spotlight was off

resting on the worn floor

just in front of a

lonely, lanky soloist

Whose eyes barely

twitched; empty and scared

as if imagining an applause

That would never ring

against the drums in

 the ears that matched

the flawless notes

escaping in a caravan

of soft melodies

Dusty red velvet curtains

came barreling inward

kissing as each side met

Behind the soloist

remaining still

While the spotlight

darkened and drove

through any solid

foundation, a hole

Soon a twitch

in the fourth finger

lead to another

Then the entire hand

closing in on itself

to grip, to clench

blue veins protrude

against the skin of the arm

a face sculpted for anger

From behind the curtain

a sliver of pure water

snaked its way around

Over the miniscule

particles of dirt and dust

towards the bottomless

hole where the

unreached spotlight

had shown moments before

Falling easily over

the rounded edge

as an unbroken stream

Making a glassy trickle

like water from a faucet

the only sound

heard in many years

besides the voice of

the soloist

Ringing like an untuned

symphony, far, far away

yet so foreign it blistered

The drum which only

recognized angelic pitches

causing the fists to

 clench, tighter

making the sweat drop

into the ever-widening water

The mouth forced open

eyes collapsed to a shut

chords in the throat

Caught, no sound

came out,it had

mutated pitches

dancing in its wake

that cannot be heard,

not worthy of praise

And yet these silent years

reflected in a wet mirror

behind the stage are hazy

As the short hand

reached the seven

in the evening every

night, the soloist took

the stage alone

flawless, no applause

Water now rushing

well past the ankles

swayed the soloist

Still writhing in a

pain from endless

vacant applauses dripping

to the water and mixinig

in each memory that was held

in a moment flooding from

The  cracking mirror,

shards shooting off

and swept into the current

To the hole which

had no end

until the pressure

became unbarable

the mirror burst

into a great wave

Knocking the

soloist from his

lonely stance of perfection

Free falling in the hole

washed by the water

which held his pain

the waves sounding much

like the applause desired

lifting the weight

We the Free



Glass in My Eyes

The reflections that play
against the glass in my
eyes show you a journey

What my sight has
shown me are things
not just views

But rather a story;
perhaps my story, the
reason I came to be

The reason I am the
way I am, formed
continuously by the

Visions I have seen
every waking moment
of my on-going life

So rather judge my
visions of these passing
stories across the

Glass in my eyes
to fully know the
story of me

Welcome To Heartbreak (for Clare)

The snap of a finger
the flap of a wing
that's all it took
to welcome, to lurch
you beneath the
longest, most daring
stretch of blistering
hot, vibrant red
cumulous clouds
waiting
for this one
short moment
to explode
sending every
feeling, memory
of fiery
passion
in the inner most
cavities of your strong,
fragile heart;
showering, burning
your tender skin
searing the tiniest
of hairs, however
with so great a
force
that your knees
knock together
trembling to
keep your body upright and
failing at the
very start
bringing you
into lonliness
and your legs bend into
your chest
because it
throbs now
that a
chunk
of it is
missing, pouring
down in the molten
lava raindrops
Oh, darling,
Welcome to heartbreak

Masquerade

Daylight has fled

Darkness resounds

Amongst the trees

Silence

Fills the empty

Spaces between

The nimble

Fingers

As they slip

The vibrant, feathered

Covering over the

Tender

Skin surrounding

Curious lashes blanketing

Eyes like wet

Sand

All the while

The sound of

A jubilant quartet

Plays,

Beckoning, luring

All to follow

And sway

Together

Until the hands of time

Forbids it any longer

Be free and let slip what lies

Beneath

Little One

Soften the foot steps leading

Into the creaking, open doorway

For the promises it beholds

Are nothing more than deceiving

Little One, this is not how tomorrow

Should begin

Uncurl each trembling finger

That takes comfort in the

Wrinkles engraved in pink palms,

Stretch them forth and for a time, linger

In the rays pouring in between each

Wooden doorframe

Stay only a moment, no more,

Watch as the pigment deepens

Slowly, surely it is devoured

Ripping open, falling to the shore;

Barricade each plump crimson lip,

Bone exposed

A tremor rattles out, uncontrollable

Pull back with hast, no more

Than a moment, warning, remember!

But, oh, it is too late, the power unstoppable

Seeps through to the fibers in the mind,

Now useless

Little One, use the power resounding

In the innocence beneath each

Tip of a finger nail

This is not how tomorrow should be beginning

Possible Prologue For a Book

The rapids rushed in from all sides, whipping my head around in un-natural directions. Everything was black, pitch-black-dark. My legs had become noodles bouncing around in over boiling water. The air inside my lungs wasn't enough to feed my exasperated heart. Spasms tightened my exhausted muscles in my arm as they hopelessly fought to keep hold of the rotten branch, the only thing preventing me from completely going under. It was my only hope, I mustn't let it go. I gnawed my teeth together and kicked against the timultuous pounding of the unforgiving water. Using every last ounce of the power in my shoulders I broke the water's surface. Daylight blinded my  water-logged eyes, oxygen bursted throughout my being. A dream much too great to behold more than a split second in which I was back beneath fighting for myself.

I strained, I begged, I yanked at my muscles. I pleaded for them to please, please pull me through. They were failing me. They wouldn't listen. How could they do this to me?

The water smothered my face, erasing my tears. My journey had bever been easy. Wasn't there a better way? I opened my mouth to scream for help. A mouth-full of viral water was the only thing I got. Another spasm striked and dominated my quivering shoulders. An especially rough swell shoved my pitiful frame, pushing me against something sharp. Needle-like pain throbbed in my stomach, knocking the only bit of airi left in my lungs out and into the rushing current. My throat sucked helplessly for the relief of air but nothing came. I felt my muscles weeze and begin to shut down. This was it, what else could there be? My time had come.

My world went black while my eyes remained open. My gripping hands released their hold. My aching body was swept away, going with the jagged rises and falls in the natural curvature in the current's swells.

But then, abruptly, my body was yanked from the rushing river. The jolt of solid, rocky, ground surged mucky water out of my lungs and through my mouth. It trickled down the my pale cheeks. My extremeties refused to move, but my eyelids parted slightly. Though water-logged and hazy from the filth that had collected in them, they shot an image of heavily mudded, brown working boots to my delusional conscience.

The image was breif. Darkness caved in once again as everything went black.

The World Awaits

The World Awaits

Created in the image

of perfection-

whittled from the

finest wood

Chizzled from the most

precious stone-

brushed on the

smoothest canvas

Cupped in the arena of

flawless fingers-

moisted lips pulled together

and part

A warm breath softly

washes over-

faintly a heart beats

beginning steadily

Calling in the distance the

world awaits-

bracing itself for utter

resounding beauty