I stumble into an empty room,

Riddled with artifacts from young past.

A sanctuary for a lover’s heart to rest,

Lies beating upon the floor

In a plaintive rhythmic drone.

Your perfume still lingers here;

Like deadly nightshade, it dulls my senses.

And in a somnolent state, I see your spectral form appear.

Your auburn hair strewn about the pillow,

Like a brilliant sunburst, cradling your comely face.

I hear the joyous song of your laughter

echo in my mind, like the flutters of a butterfly’s wing.

And in the mourning light, I wake to no goddess by my side;

Just the ghostly fragments of a dream.

And as I begin to weep upon your pillow,

All I can smell is the sickly sweet scent of loss,

Forever paralyzed in your memory.


The Magician


His countenance betrays nothing.

His eyes focused and unyielding.

His hands flutter, like wings of a bird.

Disappearing and reappearing with languid precision.

His hair leonine; wild and untamed.

He takes a goblet, turning water into wine.

He takes his staff and tosses it into the air.

And at its zenith, transforms it into a mighty sword.

With a deft hand, the Magician

Tears it from its impending descent.

He takes the blade and cuts through the air

In a big arc around him.  Encircling himself.

His eyes now ablaze with fervent vigor;

Propelled by some cosmic force.

He sweeps the blade faster and faster

Around him, until it almost appears

As though he cut through the very fabric of time.

And a circle of white light surrounds him.

Vitruvian in all his splendor, he spreads

His limbs out as if he were spokes in a wheel.

Slowly he begins to turn inside the circle of light,

Spinning faster and faster with hellish speed,

Until a radiant flash bursts into a million stars.

As above, so below.

As it is on earth, so it is in heaven.

The Fool

I jump at the chance to spread my wings and fly

Over that steep ledge; where life and death

Wait with eager hands to take me with them.

I carry the weight of the world in a small bag, tied to a stick.

My life swinging back and forth, like a pendulum on a string.

I dance upon the edge of danger; its jagged teeth nipping

At my heels with emphatic pleasure. And I smile.

Taking that leap of faith or folly; I do not wonder where my feet will land.

For it’s landing is inevitable, not debatable.

No abstraction divides me from my purpose;

Whether known or unknown. It does not matter.

Men do like the chase.  The hot pursuit.

The kiss of cold steel in their hands.

The taste of hot lead in their mouth.

So I take that chance, because I must;

For the folly of man is not taking a chance at all.