Every Bottle; Wilting Crowns of Ivy and Lace
Every bottle holds a story,
a single tear of
past
future
now.
Galaxies upon galaxies are
dreamt into feathers of
tomorrow,
birthed by the bygone bottles
of the moon.
Every child grows (and knows)
the tale,
every man weaves his
thread.
Sisters and cousins
learn to be by the bottle,
the cocoon of life,
to be wary,
to grow in a
religion only the bottle
holds.
Every bottle
holds a story,
a tear,
a feather,
a thread,
a religion.
Every bottle holds the dead.
Shades of Life; To Live is to Inspire
Cotton hair
of wispy white
floats around her azure eyes.
Her fertile skin
of brown, green, and tan
is covered,
and exposed,
by a dazzling dress of magnificent blue.
An obsidian crown
embedded with thousands of diamonds
lies upon her head.
She is a nurturer of the sick,
supplying everything her children need.
She is a tyrant
with an anger stronger than the gods'.
She is an inventor,
creating beyond imagination.
She is a demon.
She is an angel.
She is a god.
She is the most beautiful,
inspiring,
intimidating thing to exist.
Wicked Beasts of the Night; Storm Clouds
Blonde hair,
evening prayer,
Our Father, Who art in heaven
Hallowed be Thy Name.
Golden rings,
violin strings,
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done.
Pressed cotton,
faith forgotten,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
Labored sleep,
lovers weep,
forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us.
Leaving soon,
eclipsed moon,
lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
Amen.
Thunder; The Act of Announcing One’s Faith
Every now and then the stars align, and
everyone told me love was blind.
Baby, heaven's in your arms.
I bless the rains down in Africa, I
baptize my soul with the help of your waters.
Take me to church.
In a land of Gods and Monsters I was an angel,
I s[aw] fire burning the trees.
Good God, let me give you my life.
Every time I close my eyes it's like a dark paradise,
no one compares to you.
Heaven help a fool who falls in love.
The Sarcastic Nature of Time; Green Lemons
When I was seven
and fell down the stairs
I wanted to die.
You were 13,
you told me to wait.
When I was 13
and hit by a car
I wanted to die.
You were 18,
you told me to wait.
When I was 18,
depressed with split wrists,
I wanted to die.
You were 26,
you told me to wait.
When I was 26
and slipped off the roof
I wanted to live.
You were 26,
the spitting image of me,
like looking in a mirror.
It took me until our fourth encounter to cry.