I am not lost but you will not find me

unless you too slip into this realm of mine

I have no more love for the real world

where dreams are undone and memories stolen by time


They send their best watch to search the ruins

of my outer life

where I have sunken into lore

Their flashlights fall on my resting soul-

they say “nothing’s here”

and think I am no more


But something burns bright behind these sullen eyes

They may find me if they look twice

I watch them from my twilit world of reprise

I am not lost but I hide in plain sight


The terror sown into your eyes

is devastating

I thought you were strong

when I wasn’t

Now you are a frightened rag doll

in my arms

I will use my brittle bones

to carry you

Burning Ice

Like burning ice you will never die

but I fear for you,

my dark-eyed saint


I fear the wisps of venom

that rise

from your silvered lips

like demon mist


I fear the wicked light

in your eyes,

The angel’s might

in your sword’s death kiss


Once we danced through fields

of dandelion seeds,

the evening breeze

like a  fading wish


Now you burn like ice,

my dark-eyed saint,

and I fear for you

I fear for you


The Woodcutter’s Shadow


(Image credit: Gunnar Creutz, Falbygdens museum)

The girl in the red riding hood came and went. Sleepy eyes watched her from the shadows, but no pounce came. The woodcutter tightened his grip on his axe. He knew the truth now. The wolf was here for him.

He turned to confront the darkness. “Devour me if you will,” he shouted at it. “But answer me one thing

Why do you hunt me, o wolf of mine?

I am not young nor fair of face

My lips have never tasted the honey of grace

Why do you hunt me, o wolf of mine?


The darkness shuddered. From it rose a dry chuckle, disembodied, and with it a voice


I don’t want the blood of the saints, I want yours

It’s sweeter for all it is cursed

My maw delights in its bloodied verse

I don’t want the blood of the saints, I want yours

A Handful of Stars

I wanted the sky

I coveted the stars

I bled the earth dry

and I slept on glass shards


I woke demons from slumber

and armed them with sword

They clamoured like thunder

at my every word


But my soul longed for songbirds

with their gentle lullaby

For melodies of nothing

and an empty blue sky


So I struck down my demons

I set the stars free

I found my sweet songbird

and I slept peacefully