Dead Life [poetry]

He died before she was born
But she still gazes long at his picture
She still sings all his songs

She weeps to know his future is at a standstill
Her grief rises from the depths of her soul
Her tears fall from a broken heart at the threshold of her own dark doorway destination

But she still sings all his songs
A sugar child believing all she needs is love to put El Dorado together again
But sugar children, like dreams, dissolve in the global hatred among us

But she still sings all his songs
And we lie empty and cold in the pouring rains of tomorrow
Listening to the rise and cries of her ghost-like voice

The Girl and the Sea [poetry]

The sea is nearly silent around her.

A faint skitter of fiddler-crabs upon the sand connects
to a murmur of the night-wind in palm trees overhead.

Her lover tide is making low complaints like the ache of earth
caressing and bitter against an expectant land.

She keeps half-awake the anguished spirit of self-love,
to half-lull it with a soothing song to ease the embers from the brand.

The moment pales—a broken trail of sparks on water in the east,
a splash of crimson paint so frail it cannot last.

It leaves like a night to a brand-new day.