Dawn and Dusk

These eyes have been closed for way too long. The sun seems way too bright. Unprepared to face the day, unprepared to face the night. Stranded somewhere in between my dawn and your dusk. Searching for reasons to dry out and rust. But last I will and last I'll stay, waiting for answers to turn and say. I'll stop, look up, and face the sun. Open my eyes, hold still, become. A steadier stance for you to stand. For me to allow, for you to land.

Woven by Silence

These are the songs I'd like sung, the words I'd like read. The poems to be heard and thoughts to be said. This bed seems so warm, away from the darkness. Laying here for a while, an eternal while. So still, so honest. So pour me a drink, a second to say, a bleeding heart bandage beginning to fray. The wound is now fatal, debating the past. Deceiving the current, the present, the last. Drunk on the poets who drink the divine. Swallowing fragments of distant design. And still I lay here, so still, so honest. Hard shell of a room, a dark and low nest. Woven by silence and laced with decay. The birthplace of now will hatch, then fly away. There's no understanding, no time machine fix. No solution, no ending, no candle, no wick. But might there be fire, a glisten, a flame. Burning with passion, then out with the same. Still will I lay, with honest refrain. A verse from a vow, a puddle from rain. A flood from a river, homeless in my home. My feet need no cover, they forever are cold. But still I lay down, eyes slower to squint. I'm striking goodbyes with a trustworthy flint. The songs that I sing, the words that I read. A poem to hear and thoughts to be seen.