Fire in the Wind

Obsession mirrored, you and me,

for you'll never let me be,

and my own thoughts are feared

by me.

My mind's been caught in selfish dreams

by you, thief of precious things;

you stole my belief

in kings,

in the absolute of heirs

destined for burdens to bare,

those the giants bore

with care.

But you recant selfish virtue

so you can learn your sin anew;

for what is left to burn

in lieu?

And all my breath is held in fists

that shake, in dreams, at skies of mist

where your smile gleams,

un-kissed.

circa 2001

The train mimics my urge

to flee faster, faster

into the city

with a deafening cry,

so all those who wittness

cover their ears.

The sky mimics my arms

that rise, are light, that wish

to lift above

from my sinking body;

knuckles are white from digging

in the clouds.

I mimic the thought

that is carried on my back

whispering lies

and falls to dust at night

so I might doubt to sun

for shining each day.

circa 2002

did I turn you away?

I didn't know

what subtleties are hidden

in my words

are dances even I cannot interpret

are my words true?

I do not know

that I lie to you

with the unknown language

honest dealings are misinterpreted

my deceitfulness is so complete

that I even fooled myself of my intentions

and what are true and false compete

for the misdirection of your affections

circa 2001

The flame that burns my fingers

burns nothing which is not already ash:

skin of ash, 

bone of ash.

The body is fuel for fire.

This flame burns no farther than a glare in my eyes.

It is a flame of light

for visions.

Sight creates fuel for wishes. 

Wishes burn deep within the firepit of the chest, 

in those who dare to let them burn.

But a heart of flame reveals a soul of ash, 

refuse of a lifetime's passions 

snuffed too soon. 

Such a spirit is subject to weather,  

to be scattered by storm and 

absorbed by snow:  

a life like fire in the wind.

For Snowden 

circa 2000

revisions 2007