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Voices In the Wind

Standing on the barren mountaintop the wind is like a whip.
Beneath me the turkey vultures soar by me once again.
Why do I feel I’m on the edge barely clinging by my fingertips?
Listening to the Voices In the Wind.

Oh, the contradictory clauses in the things we do and say.
I really think I’d fit in here, if I could only find my place.
While all the time we’re packing bags to go and search for better things.
...

gouge me with a
turret and
clean out my
pores,
scatter my
bones so that
vultures can
sing

i'd like to
pretend
that i am still
clean but the
mirror of hades
is grinning at
me

***this still awaits revision and is not the finished version***

i have been thirsty-
i do not mean
like one in the desert;
that i could stand.

i have craved water
with it all around
holding my cup out under
rivers tumbling

cascading heavily
threatening
to drown
but my cup
remains empty i
cannot be cleansed

and the guilt remains
tattooed on my skin
...

Where the tear of the unicorn falls
There rises a golden mist
Guiding us, it leads on
Hinting at utter bliss.

"Tread softly" says the voice
As ethereal maidens dance
Let us not stray from the path
Lest we be homeward bound.

AT the crossroads we must part
He goes on and fades away
And I- I turn back
To face another day.

Self-Portrait II

A dash of vibrant color, or some inner spark
Flows to the canvas from my broken heart.
Should I follow up my varicolored plastic dreams—
Knowing some more drab, more realistic, might never be seen?
What is the exact hue of the legacy
That I will leave on this canvas—left behind me?
Borrowed crimson emotions, aquamarine tears,
A bit of deep jet shadow here and there—
Golden glow of hope, cornflower blue cold loneliness— ...