A(path)y

all his qualities came
in varieties of neon black;
neatly folded
into the creases of her exuberance.
her smile faltered
on the morning of their third year
& when push came to shove,
she shoved.

– black –

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Where The Wild Roses Grow

Will you not meet me underneath the waves?
‘Cause there I lie; I fear the Shadow’s Son —
who gently sings the Broken to their graves.

I was the bearer of a searing sun —
when you burned bright, burned fiercely in my heart;
burnt to the very core, it mattered none.

They say I loved you from the very start —
and did not see when envy drowned the light;
when boiling storms just tore my heart apart.

Yet, here I float, in seas of darkest night —
soon to be bound to whom my soul enslaves;
the Shadow’s Son, who whispers songs of blight.

I seek the One whose heart the darkness braves…
Will you not meet me underneath the waves?

( Terza Rima Sonnet)

On The Far Side Of Neverland

on his sandpaper skin
you could see the scars of
all those missed trips to Neverland —

all those moments when
he wanted to be Peter Pan
but could not bring himself to fly

& with his earthbound grip
he built his foundation, solidly
on the slopes of a childhood dream

while his twinkling eyes
still sought Peter Pan
in the ever-changing skies.

Cacophony

you swallowed your sinewy thoughts
with the contents of a chipped coffee mug
at that old place just around the corner
& drifted to the bottom for

17

endless

seconds,

accompanied by the hollowed out
‘Do’s & Don’ts’ of social convention.
& when
she brushed her hair back, smUgly,
all you longed to see
were the remnants of vividness
her eyes once possessed,
but spires of woe
clouded her vision.