confidence, that thief

back here, how strange it is, the heart is sore,
as memories like lies, and sons of lies
touch cold bare feet onto a frozen floor
beneath a ghost they sought to idolize

how comforting – the fault was never owned:
there need be nothing learned or set away
or carried into bright and awkward day
from pedestals where they have lived, enthroned

and stories, like a hive, are built and set:
the never-happened, covering regret
encapsulates, and keeps the real world out,
so progress can be stopped, along with doubt.

the old clock ticks, and day soon swallows night,
and never-can-be-wrong is never right

the gold of the december sun…

the gold of the december sun
has touched the fields of white –
the anger goes, what’s done is done,
it’s time to make things right –

the fire in the sky is like
the one within your heart –
for old times never end until
the new ones


Why is it colors know
The things that I can’t say?
How did I come to feel
So lost in yesterday?

The color’s in my head and hands,
The anger’s in my blood and bone,
The voices do not bother me,
For I am one, alone —

The inspiration of the eye,
The resurrection of the mind,
The colors of our diffidence,
The future, left behind —

Where is it colors lead?
Those siblings, Joy and Grief,
Have come to take me far
Into my own belief —

Why is it colors point
Beyond what I can see?
And why do I begin to know
The faith you have
In me?

to feel the dark again

i want to feel the dark again
to feel the dark
to know the dark
i want to feel the dark again
and let it stain my soul

but not with evil’s angry touch
to be no pain
to know no pain
but not with evil’s angry touch
amid the darkened hole

i want to sense what isn’t there
not with my eyes
my lying eyes
i want to sense what isn’t there
and into dreams embark

i want to be what i should be
but never was
and never am
i want to be what i should be
a creature of
the dark