Song of Sacrifice 2

You hold the knife

as one holds

a fallen fledgling,

Your eyes command my approach,

and as I shuffle,

the shackles sing a

discordant, jangling dirge


I weep,

but whether for my soul

or for your cruelty,

I cannot say.


I held you.

Kissed you.

Loved you.

Sang you to sleep in my arms.


Your smile transfixed me,

and the hidden coils of your flesh

felt warm in my hands.


Your lying mouth

wrought cries from the core of me.

And like fresh clay

you molded me into a sacrifice,


Sharpened your knife

on your heart of stone.


Pray make it quick, love.

I will wait for you

in the

frozen abyss…

Poet of Light

The beacon skims

the waves

but no ships sail

this hour of night


A false dawn lights

the horizon, and

obsidian skies blush pale

as the stars shine

their last


My small lantern


what shadows it can tame.

The rest wait their turn


The mulled wine

warms the bones

and softens the edges

of harsh memories


My breathing,

the scratch of the pen,

the sizzling pop of an oil bubble

sound all the louder

at this hour


Far below,

waves whisper


of sighs


The keepers of

the past

watch from

realms unseen,

but whether in

approval or censure,

I can’t tell.


Either way,

I’m undone.


A red gold band

of light

sears the seam of

the horizon


I finish the wine.

I finish the page,

and close my eyes

to the sweet brightness


And once more

the walls crumble

to ruin,

the light


and I fade

like the names

of lovers

drawn in the sand

before high tide.




Poet of Shadow

I write

in the

shadowed places


cold, bleak

and dark


Stepping on cracks in the sidewalk

full of cigarette butts,

phlegmatic spit

and on occasion,



There are crevices

in the fences too,

where the wind whistles

off key,

enticing me

to emerge

and share.


And I want to,

I so very want to,

and know that I

so very

never will


The silent shadows

comfort me,

drape their darkness

across my shoulders

like the powerful arm

of a strong friend


I shift and settle,

a  bag of  garbage

kicked in the corner,

under a wedge of dim, flickering light

from a faulty streetlamp,

the wires humming in

off key harmony

with the whistling wind


Come out to play, poet…


‘No,’ I reply to the invitation,

now no longer content to be in

the shadows.

I melt into them.


My words spin

out and away,

beyond my control,

into the vast, black

void of heaven.


And I write

in the

shadowed places


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