The Wind and the Water

Murderous mistakes
must be forgotten,
calling in the swirling
kindred spirits
on all of the pastel and vibrant
howling planes,
we stand firm together,
leaving time behind us
to have a lie-in,
the collective awakened
breath in the wind and water
and deep exhale
coven fire.

Hear me ache,
cry out even
in the night,
for want of hope
or some such light,
so bright
it bludgeons and blinds
the monsters who
grin big teeth
at me
from the Cheshire cat
closet door,
ever scratching down my back,
clawing blood and spit,
they eat their way up
from the deep hell pit
in which I have traveled
for far too long,
so thus to speak at me
in tongues of
undead earthen magic
which shudders my skin.

Leaking teary humans
shaking their sweet heads,
so young,
dying too young,
our wails of grief
vibrate and resound

on the walls of heaven.

The Wind Begins to Howl

I called down the rain,
she obliged
with a subtle smile,
dripping down on
my skin like a miracle.

But in the morning,
that boy,
still in my head,
laughs when I am hurting
and even after all this time
has passed,
I cannot forgive him
and the rage
seems to grow...
losing my dad
on a frosty January in Minnesota,
then for 5 years
I watched cancer
eat my brother away,
the hole that remains
could swallow the ocean
and it scares me so.
If there is a spirit
watching over us,
he seems a cruel
monster god to me.
And then the wind begins to howl.