Only Good Night
Constellations tell the stories of dreamers past,
Though her wisdom is engraved to last.
From my window, she speaks,
“Come young one, with a spirit so bright,
Good fortune awaits you in time.”
Her place of nurture has just begun,
To hush the hymn of a waning sun.
Hopeless by a tarnished reverie, I ask,
“Can music still exist within silence?”
“Only for those who heal the blinded.”
Clouds of charcoal hinder the glow
That my celestial guardian has yet to bestow.
Beams of sapphire escape night’s grasp,
Siphoned through her ethereal lighthouse
To find me lost in stained memory.
Darkness summons ominous bouts of sorcery,
But true magic lies in the presence of her imagery.
A moon pierces the shadows that lurk below;
My luminescent entity who defends with a gleaming bow,
One of which the birth of morning shall never know.
She stays to answer my ending plight,
“Never bid farewell, only good night.”
Bathed in the milky sky above,
I bow my head in sweet surrender,
Knowing raindrops are nature’s pearls of love,
And storm clouds Spring’s late reminder.
An alabaster butterfly dances with the wind,
Its wings pallid and sheer like a bridal veil,
Floating among thorny bristles as a seraph sinned
To sing and utter confessions to the gale.
Why is it Mother Earth lets her children die
Without so much as batting a tearful eye?
Tucked away in soil beds drawn by Father Time
Are innocent lives ended with neither reason nor rhyme.
Flayed flesh will trade for a feather touch,
For I am a bouquet of bones
With too many scars to name,
A hollowed hospice devoid of a soul,
Waiting for the missing pieces to finally make me whole.
And so I sit and endure the wakeless hours,
As stop-motion fantasies of long ago
Linger like the smoke
Of a suffocated chimney.
What season am I and how old is the day?
X marks the spot on a calendar of nonsense I’ve made.
I am not a flaw of nature’s design
Even as my body and spirit are torn,
Fighting behind enemy lines,
Fighting for a place to thrive.
The speed of hummingbird wings
Mimics my frantic heartbeat
When you stand so close to me
Without noticing the change in scenery.
I gave into a dream one April night,
Where we scaled castle walls on ivy ladders;
You with bruised feet longing for the holy ground
And I with a wandering eye on my awaiting prize.
Thunder clapped and lightning screamed our praises,
But you cut me loose before the summit of my fears,
And branded me an offering to the chasm.
Nightshade and a sprig of clover
Pay their respects at Spring’s late funeral.
A mourning song playing in my mind
Stops with the staccato of your approaching steps.
I indulge in pure imagination this golden morning,
Starting with a forest growing atop your head;
So that I might pick every flower I see
With a perfume sweeter than my own.
So that I might tie a promise around your wrist,
Taut, and strong, and miles long,
To keep you from getting lost in the brush.
Remember me in this moment as your life flies by;
Only then will the winds of change
Guide you to the place you are meant to be,
Hovering over the same bud
When the well has run dry
And the nectar bitter
Is foolish if you have wings.