When I was young, my breath would softly sigh

How weak is my pounding heart,

I long to soar, to spread my wings and fly.

I then grew up, I no longer complied,

I soar around the boy, and on his shoulder I land, depart,

But eventually, my breath would softly sigh.

One day, my wings grew weak, I knew not why.

The boy embraced my cold, despairing heart

I yearn to prove my youth, and yet I can only yearn, for I can no longer fly.

Did I forget to feed, to water? He cries.

No, friend, not once did I thirst or starve,

It’s my tired lung, from which my breath sighs.

You will lose me and I will lose you, thus is life.

For you, fate is still afar.

For me, I will rest, before I fly.

Let me close my eyes,

And venture beyond your cabin, oh wooden heart—

See me glide through the trees, beyond the starry sky!

Let me go, let me fly.

I wander inside a hollow city

Wrap in a stifling suit under the scorching Sun.

Sparse grass barely cradles the sidewalk trees

Streets echo empty. Cars glide soundlessly.

Turning a corner, I find another scene,

A huddle of quiet, dying figures

Drunk and drowsy, their vitality depletes.

Steering clear of their vacant gazes

I move through swiftly.

From the shadow,

A girl–

Black, barefoot, hand extends out to daylight.

I turn to see her unblemished palm

Almost touching mine.

Should I hold her,

To take her out of the shadow?

A moment of doubt

But it lasts too long

Long enough for them to drag her back

To shadow’s deep,

Where spirits sleep.

Upon the crown where the crowd’s gaze rests,

The people form a human ladder.

Feet trample on chests,

Hands grip on shoulders.

To carve a path through the throng,

Axes and blades swing wildly.

Hollers of joy and pain and death prolong,

A deafening symphony.

Brothers and sisters link arms,

Marching in unison.

Until a glaive swings out with harm,

Severing any warm connection.

All eyes are fixed upon The Crown,

All continues to climb, to kill, to unite, then betray

Until the winner reaches atop and dons the bloodied crown,

Only for it to vanish, ashes away.

Then they descend to the pyramid of carrions,

That without purpose, all crumble into oblivion.

Among the sea of leaves,

There stands a Ginkgo tree.

One lobe, lush and green,

Quaffing moist rain,

Breathing beams of Sun.

The other lobe, barren and yellow,

Crinkling under age’s yoke,

Drained of youthful gifts.

Half of the lobe slowly hardens

The other half verdantly grows,

It stretches far and high,

Resisting death.

In a perplexed realm called The City

Nothing you see stays tranquil.

Do not be a fool, to mistake reality for fantasy

To believe people only grew one face.

During the day, the diurnal shadow ceases.

At noon, warmth envelops coldness.

But when the Sun ashes, when the Moon waxes,

The Night Dagger boldly flashes.

The hoisting haze blinds the light

Piling your lungs with trashy air.

Stranging clothes abrase your shoulders

Leaving stains with charred odors.

Hide your pennies and watch your back

Tight your knife and stay on track.

There are eyes sharper than blades

Drooling, waiting, hunting for your auric stash.

Those mannered hands will choke you

Those dubious lights will burn you

But those that still contain remnants of the Morning Light

Bond with them, Fight with them.

The enduring darkness does not perish,

It lives longer than you.

So stride forth with those you trust

And climb beyond where daggers thrust,

Go to a place where Moon shines brighter than the Sun

And rest along with those who have risen with you.

A boy promised a golden shower

To shimmer upon a lake of swans.

He took a girl’s hand

To catch the final breath of Fall.

But when they arrived by the lake,

The warmth, the swans

The beauty of Autumn,

All ceased to exist.

Shame reddened his ears,

Regret,

Regret for not arriving earlier

And missing Amber’s farewell–

Yet the girl didn’t mind,

She smiled, whispered into his ear

“Warmth never dies,

As long as you hold me tight.”