Specters
They are always there
Invisible to the children
They come for the adults
Taking their life
Attracted by Dust
Their only enemy is the subtle knife
Who cuts through anything
The strongest metal
Even the particles
To another world
Haunting the citizens of Cittagazze
For generations
Making them afraid to grow up
They have them here too
We just don't know it yet
February 6, 2003; based on the specters in the book The Subtle Knife by Philip Pullman
In A Concentration Camp
They push
They shove
They force us into the unknown
Children cry
Children weep
Children scream for their mothers
Dogs bark
Dogs snarl
Dogs strain to get our heels
Fathers search
Fathers seek
Fathers scan crowds for their families
Guards yell
Guards shout
Guards spit directions like slavemasters
Mothers grasp
Mothers cling
Mothers protect their offspring
I scream
I search
I cling to what I know
February 12, 2003
Life Never-Ending
How awful it must be
To live a hundred years
Everyday knowing
It is not your last
Nor will it be
You, who has so foolishly wished
For this
Will never have your day
How strange it must be
To live a thousand years
Everyday knowing
The ones you loved are gone
They have lived their lives
Had their days
Spent their dash
While you still remain
How horrible it must be
For you
Always knowing
Life never-ending
February 20, 2003
Elements
I am the wind
I whisper to you
I call your name
I am the water
I reach out to you
I call for you to come to me
I am the fire
I burn you
I surround you with flame
I am the darkness
I make you afraid
I call you to me with mystery
I am the light
I have you not afraid
I comfort you when you are scared
I am the stars
I enchant you
I beg your eyes to look up
I am the earth
I give you life
I sustain your every being
Please do not fear us
Please know we are the circle of life
Please live
February 20, 2003
Withering Butterfly Wings
Once full of life
Fluttering through the air
But now that freedom is gone
Gone like the life in its heart
For now they are folded so gently
They will never fly again
They are no longer beautiful to me
The brown of things that were once living
Your wings
Are curled around the edges
Once so tough to break
Now so brittle
With each passing day
A little more is gone
The once beautiful butterfly and her wings
Will only fly with the dead forevermore
February 20, 2003
Between the Lines
Why must everyone say
to read between the lines?
There's nothing there
but white space.
You can use
the tiniest microscope,
and you will still
read nothing.
What message is there
if there are no words?
Who said that?
Of course there are words
You just have to find them.
February 22, 2003
Unfinished
I awake from my sleep
and stare into a stranger's eyes.
The murmer of scared voices
fills the air.
We are jostled about.
I clutch Mother.
Once so beautiful,
now she looks lost.
Rumors are spread
through our confines.
We are going someplace,
but we will never leave.
Sunlight pours in, blinding us.
Voices shout in German.
They yank me away from Mother.
I am heading for the tall grey stacks...
February 25, 2003
Destinations
Home
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
