Decay

When darkness reigned at sunrise there,
Nor' gaily gleamed the lofty moon,
A seed, planted in earthy hole,
Is lulled to sleep by the crying loon

In a womb made of angry ashes
a germ grows from the mixing firth
Conferring life back, forth from ruin
in a tide pool of death and birth.

At lazy lilies, I do not wonder,
too picturesque a path they lay.
Yet, tears I shed in joy and marvel
when the same sad flowers decay

Hence when my rhythmic beating ceases,
'though the birds still sing their songs,
Lay me in the lake made basin
by the willow, green and long.

To Wait for Wine

He steals grapes from my vineyard,
A bird not the same color
Yet always the same.
Just when they've grown to ripeness,
Juicy and plump on the vine;
A violent purple absorbing sun,
The bird comes to snatch it away.

He guilts me with his hunger
As he tries to thieve my fruit.
So I question my resilience,
Perhaps he needs this more than I.
But it's not about survival
It his gluttony that drives
when he flies over my vineyard
So to red his beak with lust.

Yet this bird, he is persistent,
In his gathering of my crop.
He gorges while I wait
to turn the grapes to wine.
I'll ferment them in oak barrels
as they soak in patience and passion.
But I must pick before the frost.

A Walking Contradiction

I am here, but I am gone
I am weak, yet I am strong
I am smart, but I act dumb
I have feelings yet I'm numb

A walking contradiction
An oxymoron brought to life
Truth strange as fiction
Getting pleasure from strife

I am powerful, but helpless still
I scare easy, yet I live for the thrill
I am hopeful, but I've lost trust
I am innocence buried in lust

A walking contradiction
An oxymoron brought to life
Truth strange as fiction
Getting pleasure from strife

I change but stay the same
I am wild yet I am tame
I give advice that I don't take
I'm made of glass but I don't break.