Dreaming through the clouds, I see it;

faint and infant, promise-tinted

whip of dawn, bleeding rose and

halycon

some New Day - warm,

the birds trill on, adoring,

versed in longing,

hum their devotions

to their first kiss

of Morning.

Hollow-eyed, pride-less lion,

hunger sweating from his tongue

what a shame, once

mighty, how his sinew

sheaths, blunted, beneath a

crumpled coat.

How we all might surrender,

to the frailty,

of Pride -

skin pitted by the embers of

the fire

we won't surrender.

His bones, His moonstone teeth,

sand-burnished tombstones,

the lone hubrid monuments to

His religion.

October was her

only sky

oh,

the most

beautiful moon

she had

ever

seen

D.L

Fate only asks a

rhetorical question,

suggesting, not telling.

Which choice is compelling?

The bear in the woods

would not hunt

Red Herrings

Our time within the moment waning,

follied statues, built for breaking,

aching stomachs starved for words our

longing eyes had long forsaken.

Both our breaths in bitter silence,

a last betrayal, akin to violence,

found us (pawns to mortal vices)

drowning love with

still defiance.

Dueted in a soundless scream our

gaze belied clandestine need, but

unseen, a predetermined,

poem,

titled:

‘Could Have Been’