Alone

I clambered through the fire,
And saw the horizon.

The sun had set,
But I had missed it.

It felt like a heartbeat at first,
Pulsating in the strangest spot,
Of my unwilling body.

It felt like pain,
But I knew it wasn't cancerous,
Though its tone was grim.

It hurt,
Without warning.

Then I was alone again,
Without pain.

But it was still there,
When I wrote without will.

Then I was alone again,
With sleep nagging me.

The Artistic Vein

The white screen glares at me from the dark,
Burning into my heart,
And my breath becomes troubled,
Because my fingers have neglected,
Their keyboard lover.

My fingers are guilty,
But they twitch with ambition,
Due to their dormancy.

It was a hibernation,
That offers atrophy,
That corrodes the veins.

An artist's veins tend to stop up when the outlet is blocked.
An exodus is necessary for a strange brain to steam and rest.
A rest is essential for creation to right itself.

Time Wasted.

When my intent escapes me
I grow vexed.

I sit and ponder at its location
In my brain.

But the more I ponder
The less I know.

This goes on for some time.

Then my vision clears
And I realize how much time
I have wasted.

The Gumdrop Children

Look with imaginative eyes to the limitless horizon in the dead of winter at the peak of night. If you have creation's blessing, you will see the Gumdrop Children.

The Gumdrop Children will be dancing barefoot on the frosty mists but they never shiver. Their glowing faces are painted with youth's eternal smile. They are oblivious to mortality's envious scrutiny.

The Gumdrop Children will be singing with musical accents at the quietest climax of moonlit nights. Their red lips are curled in rhythmic O's. Their foggy breath stings the still, black air. The Sirens have learned their art from them.

The Gumdrop Children will be visible from afar but vanish when approached. They are shy angels in love with the mystique and disdainful of the mundane. They do not appear before any base presence. The contact would kill them.

The Gumdrop Children will be snuggling with the stars of the salted skies, which coat their skin like an astrological glitter. What wonderful promise they harbor in the eyes of the irreligious!

The Gumdrop Children will be baptizing themselves daily with their small, divine hands. They live continually devoid of guilt. Their skin is burnished and free of blemish.

The Gumdrop Children will be fasting without food; their nourishment is self-satisfaction; they are sustained by their philosophic intensity; their eyes see through vulgarity's transparency.

The Gumdrop Children keep the world pure, though it kills them slowly. They absorb our pain. and their ambivalent livers lovingly convert it. When they overcome their jaundice, they will beg for more.

Our waters fester, our stars die, and the moonlight's frozen peace has begun to disappear. But the Gumdrop Children restore balance and maintain peace at the cost of their bodies.

They will usher in a stronger equilibrium when the sun dies.
For they can withstand extreme cold.

And our apple cores will naturally grow because of it all.