Tag Archives: death

Clear Winter Day

Clear and cold that day.

The sun so high in the sky.

They were so full of love.

But it was his day to die.

She held his broken skull.

She tried to will him to live.

Men have the power to take

what God chose to tenderly give.

The open car racing away.

Fat tears and shattered soul.

He was the other angel for her.

Assassins can’t know what they stole.

She prays and begs God for mercy.

The world snapped open and broken.

Surgery for hours couldn’t save him.

Her prayers for strength softly spoken.

Clear and cold the day of his burial.

She kissed the casket. Tenderly, to send him home.

Holding her children’s hands in the winter sun,

God watching, still bright, in the endless, azure dome.

Bitter Orchids

The Woman Who Spins The Webs, of silk and silver, the spirals of touch and reaction,

as the wind and the people and the angels and demons all collide on the earth.

A boy. A girl. Children. Weaves the webs so they are seeds of light to grow wings,

and soar to the sun behind the world and sky, to fight the demons nipping at their heals.

A boy. A girl. Secret games in a better world. The sun children, honeyed light.

Love would grow and they would be indivisible for all of life, and into the next world.

But a demon snatched away the boy. Took him underground. The ache grows the seeds

into bitter orchids, black flowers, but still sweet with it’s nectar, nourishing those who adore angels.

A demon rips the webs, and The Woman repairs and changes it, forever and ever and ever.

The girl takes the light and the sun in her ache. Not what it was meant to be. All is still not lost.

The Woman Spins The Webs, and the girl grows grey wings, not pure light, but she flies

into the sun behind the world, and a missing arm still has his brother, still a hand to hold.

The stars above her. Her is tending the one that watches her. She is tending the ember of him.

The stars can warm us, and those lost to death. Light is a song sung across all of time, all of the universe.

The Woman Spins The Webs. The demon rips the webs. She repairs and changes. Forever and ever.

A tangle of plans and attacks, of the light and dark, of all that is dreamed in kisses and in fists.

Forever and ever and ever.

Tidings of Light Before the War

There she sat, Death, drinking a beer on the stoop, not a care in the world.

It was summer in New York, a tiding of light before the war, Death watching, amused.

No lamb blood to smear on our doors to make her passover, all would fall this time.

She watches a young couple walking hand in hand, she watches children play in the park.

She watches a chronic bachelor smoke and read a military thriller, imagining glory.

She watches a girl who is waiting anxiously for a boy, a boy who stole her heart.

She drinks her beer, looks upon all she will reap soon enough, all we throw away.

Diffident and distant, she cares not for this world; This is just a 9 to 5 in heaven.

But we will care, when all our vanities burn the world to ash, no lamb blood to pass us over.

Gentle Monster

The thunder of the music in her ears.

As it roars her head finally, finally clears.

She’s come so far. She’s come so far.

Still playing her favorite teal guitar.

Dark of the club, not even a light show.

If she were to cry, the cheering wouldn’t know.

No longer smoke filled places, like in her youth.

Even if he was here, they wouldn’t sneak a smoke on the roof.

The crashed car. The headlight pointing to the black air.

Crying, wiping the blood from his face with her long hair.

The black stained red, a veil that he passed through.

“Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! Our world isn’t through!”

And the music is a lulling dragon whose fire is cool.

In it’s teeth the peace of her voice can finally rule.

His ashes and his grave spun into a melancholy thread.

If she still loves him, still feels him near, he isn’t dead.

And the ringing in her ears, the thumping in her breast,

this gentle monster still the exorcist that soothes the best.

And still her teal guitar, that she bought when he bought his own,

still bright in this dark place, still the devoted weight, tender millstone.

Angels Who Weep Still

Caroline walks in the cemetery, end of summer,

end of the day, wandering among regal tombs

and the black stained angels who weep still.

The falling night is still warm, air radiating

with the leftovers of the sunlight, and the

sunset haloes those mournful angels.

They say ghosts are here, and maybe

they are, maybe demons too, and those

that call upon them in the dark.

And, in the wind, wind with a chill

under the warmth, of the failing light

and bitter nights yet to come……


She hears her name, feels something

cool coiling around the ache in her heart,

the ache that brought her here to be alone.


She stops, unsure. Looks back behind her,

wondering if a demon is claiming, or

a weeping angel is calling her back home.

She walks again, thinks again of the name

she curses, and then looks up at the starlight

starting to peak through the leaves of gnarled trees.

Maybe an angel is calling her home, it’s tears for her this time……….

Embraced By The Sun

Over the Rockies from Denver, as winter came,
and the snow began to fall, wispy and delicate,
down to San Diego, to the sea she never saw.
She was a high school girl I loved so tenderly.
We’d talk between classes, at lunch, study hall.
Sometimes she’d hug me. Like being embraced by the sun.
All those years ago she was killed. I watch the light go out.
No reason at all, other than someone else was cruel.
They said God made her a martyr. It was a lie after the fact.
Still, the ache hurts and is sweet and is filled with venom.
The memories of her touch softly, and leave burns on me.
I promised I’d see the ocean she never saw, wanted so badly too.
I sit on the beach, morning cool, salty and harsh wind coming.
I see a girl there by the water, wrapped in a blanket, looking at sunrise.
I don’t know if it’s her, or my broken heart’s wish for a better world.

The Cross Stands As Winter Comes

Nicole: Who were you?

The name in pink on a

purple cross, on a lonely road,

out in the open fields and farms.

Young and dreamy, maybe distant

and angry, maybe on top of the world.

You were loved. You are missed.

The cross stands as winter comes.

The high school is nearby, did a boy

cry when he heard, heard his love was gone?

Does he dream of you at night, or remember

a first kissed shared under a starry sky?

So many crosses on so many roads,

so many endings in lonely places,

so many that can only remember now

those who were the world to them.

She Carries The Lamb To Heaven

The Summer After

The girl is lost, in the tawny wheat of the steppes,
in the cold waters of the river washing past,
in the ruins of the city and corpses their.

The girl is lost, and I am lost, the world burned.
We hold close in the empty field in the summer after,
holding on like drowning sailors to driftwood.

The games we played are echoes in dreams
and voices and laughter half-remembered,
a phantasm of something lost.

The first kiss as we swam in the cold river.
Chasing each other through the tall wheat.
Looking up and the endless stars.

The girl is lost, and I am lost, our world burned.
The cannons and gunfire is silent for now.
The city built again.

It is the summer after, and we hold close,
her head laying upon my shoulder as she sleeps,
and I look up at stars that have never seemed so distant.

Valentine’s Day

The sky is clear and starry. There is no moon. The street is sparse. A
man. A couple. A diner at a cafe. The air is crisp. I pull my jacket
tighter. I hear footsteps behind me.
I wish I had a cigarette. I quit. She made me quit. Helena. Red hair.
Smile. Hands soft as silk. I remember them on my face.
She had survived once. So many didn’t. A shooting at school. We
thought that was it. We were safe. Footsteps.
Helena. Unchanging. Beautiful. Seventeen forever. I wish I could see
her get old. Gray. Wrinkled.
I keep this day holy. I keep it pure. One year ago. Bleeding on the
resteraunt floor. Gunshots. Her tears. What was happening?
I pass a couple. They are laughing. I look away. Wouldn’t you? I
almost remember. Not quite. Just almost. A summer day. Hands soft as silk.
First kiss. A Promise.
Footsteps are closer.
End of the street. Couple go into a shop. Man is gone. Diner leaving.
I turn.
A man. Plain. Cold. No plumes of breath. He has a gun.
Silenced shots. I fall. The man walks away.
My turn. Now I’m gone.
Stars are bright. They are cold.
Will I see her now?