(Untitled)

The wind blows by seductively
outside while I am tucked securely
in my domestic cotton womb
She whispers gently, rapping
against my walls, wanting me
to let her come inside.

For too long I have ignored her
strangled by fear that now
let's me gasp for air, only to
highlight the precariousness
and authority of his grip.

Yet the subtle dull tones of leaves
wrestling against my pane
the crescendo of the pine combs
gently knocking upon my door
they are becoming too loud
to bare.

I have spied on you for eternity
too afraid to leave the blanket
of apathy and entropy, of a
false sense of community.
Self-induced it may be, but my
hands have gripped this blanket
for so long, they have forgotten
their own strength.

I want to tear away,
Leap up and run outside.
Doors are made to be opened
a voice within I long considered
long gone pleads.

I want to fling open all the
doors and windows of my home
so I can finally feel the
cold breeze of winters warmth
the gentle sneeze of summers charm
the shy inhale of springs alarm
the lamented exhale of autumns harm

Yet here I lay still
Still here I lay
gripped by fear, coerced by
a sense of feeling helpless
of feeling lost, being tossed
and left aside.

I hear the wind knocking still
against the pane that bars
her from entering my room
and freeing me from the
stagnant rhapsody
that has filled my nose
and pervaded my soul.

She sings, she frolics
amongst the trees
calling me....still calling me.

Hades Weeps

I lie awake at nights
thoughts race before my eyes
of sweet meadow larks
raising in procession
from the doldrums of
the morning dew.

My eyes flutter as I
transcend to that moment
somewhere between
consciousness and sleep
before dreams can be conjured
and our thoughts are
as sharp as they can be.

There she goes again
slowly sniffing the marigolds
butterflies surround her
only for a moments favor
so they can savor her flavor.

The trees gently bow
their queen has gifted them
her presence.
No task-master will have to
whip like the wind to make their
knees bend today.

I crawl underneath a rock
so I can spy on this goddess
this fountain of eternity
this mother of serendipity
my Persephone.

The way her lips come together
as she tries to mimic the songbirds
It mesmerizes me.
They too can not help but want to
surround her with their presence
and bathe her with their lovely sounds.

I wish to be the stranded petal
accidentally swept against her hair
by a well-wishing wind.

I wish to be the beetle
she so preciously picks up
so I can taste her sweet breath
blow me away.

Yet, here I am
trapped in my dungeon,
this kingdom; my castle.
Lost in thoughts,
spying through my window
a crevice in the space of grass
watching the Goddess play.

When passion is spurned
we are quite gullible.
We can be easily persuaded
to turn our love into lust
to morph our compassion
and turn understanding
into dust.

I want to reach out.
I want to grab her by the hand
and take her to my world.
Deep down to the pits of the Earth
where I would shower her
with my gifts
and feed her my seed.

Just one bite and she will be mine.

What is it that compels us?
Where does our desire come from?
If all things are spurred by desire
what spurs the source?

I wish to be the ground
beneath her feet as she
pads my skin and trots
all over my heart.

I wish to be the softest silk
so I can cling to her essence
and in doing so
be enveloped by her.

But these thoughts are all for not.
What right do I have to
feel worthy?
What place is mine to rule
over death and yet envy life?

She is so Vital, full of life.
I slave all day in the company
of wicked men who are banished
to a world without vitality
without serenity
without Persephone.

How can I want to subject her.
Why should she want to imbibe my seed?

The Pomegranate is a fascinating fruit.
So cold and callous on the outside,
full of bitter-sweet juice within.

Life is like the Pomegranate.
We can be confounded by it's
superficial ways.
Yet it holds so much fruit within.

I long for her vibrancy, for her
carefree beauty, and her careful mystique.
For her long-flowing hair that reminds
me of the slippery waterfalls that guard
the entrance to my domain.

Eve's hair was red and wild,
she too succumbed
to the tantalizing taste of the seed
within my tree of life.

These thoughts are driving me mad,
and I still lay awake, still.
Tomorrow is another day, and
another moment to spy
another moment to die
another moment to cry
another moment to finally
approach the lady fair.

The chains in my dungeon
are made tight.
They have pierced the skin
of the hardest of mortal men.
None as hard as she has my heart.