The day seeks to burn its memory into our souls
 Setting fire to the oncoming dusk
 Scorching a trench of light between it and the gloaming
 It is a reminder to the darkness that it is powerless
 Incapable of resisting all that it means to GLOW
 And that despite those few hours of night
 A new day burns just over the horizon

 Image courtesy Michelle Marie

Death by Preparation

  A cold November wind blows through my heart, yet it is September and not a breath stirs the grass. I hear it echoing through the cavities of my heart: it is you, but you are gone.
  The river looks languid this evening. It is a deception. Those cold waters seek to lure me. I hear them calling my name, as they did yours. They want us both, to consume all that is left of what we once were. Perhaps their Stygian depths would reunite were counsel has not, where kind words and gifts have failed. And for a moment, I consider it! I stand knee-high in the reeds and lean out, as the moon reveals a twisted interpretation of who I am, and was. I feel the winds within howling through my hollow soul and I almost let go. Almost.
  You would not have wanted me to give in so easily. Yet, you did? I hear your voice whispering for me to go home and sit by the fire. To make myself a warm drink, take up my pen and write out my sorrows. But I have nothing left to communicate; I am already dead.
  I haunt the margins of your own capitulation, as I have since you left me, and will until you find me again. Yes, I am dead, but still in preparation for that final breath.


I’m lost at an angle to the man that I was
 Diverted by life in obtuse ways
 Though time still seems relevant
 And the sun and moon still rise
 The acute days rise and fall in brief flashes
 I feel myself fading by degrees
 Losing all that I have become to get here
 And the strange thing is, I’m glad of it