the question

oneday

will we look back?

when all the blood has been shed

and the widows have ceased weeping

and no mother holds vigil for a son far from home

will we see, still

the sides we blindly picked

separated by barriers our hands built

following leaders our voices chose

will we regret?

the forgotten

and all she had left

was the residue

of his lingering

fingertips.

lost

inside a memory

of a far-away dream

she thinks

she once-upon-a-time

maybe

had.

unscripted

when you know

how long 

there is to go

(until the happy ending)

it's that much easier

to sit through

the wait.

truths in sans serif

instead she said:

i used to

be a

writer

before

i was one.

and now that i

am

one

i'm not."

redemption

And when, at last, she stood there in front of him, it seemed her light would fill his world and banish the Dark he'd known so long. Pierce his weary heart, and allow him to feel. But still he resisted, resolute, not daring yet to dream.

"I will not be good for you," he said.

"No," she replied, and held out her hand. "But maybe I will be good for you."

the phoenix

i wonder if you knew.

about

the

revolution

in your bone-shards

the freedom. from your empty veins

the hope. etched below your skin

the future

beyond your feet.

i wonder if

(and hope that)

when your world went up in flames

you knew

that yours

was not

the kind of dust that

settles.

but ember-seeds

from which this tree of new life

would spring.

[*remembering him]

the dance

and you knew

if we paused for a moment

i'd feel it

there

in the soft lilting lows

in the rising pitches

in the grand crescendos

your steady beat

(heart)beat

my score