Incomplete

Perfection—
 a poison we take,
 a faith so cruel,
 we didn’t choose.

The heaven we seek
 is buried
 within thought, soul
 and skin.

Kill the lies.
 Spread its ashes
 to edge—
 and end.

The end.
 Always,
 the end.

Liminal Spaces

Follow me
 to the start—
 to the space between then and now,
 in the waiting,
 in the becoming.

I sit here
 in silence,
 in stillness,
 in knowing.

I feel the soil beneath my feet,
 the heat on my brow,
 the wind in my ears,
 the shivers on my skin.

The scent of you draws closer.
 I watch the space between us collapse.

 Our souls align.
 Longing stirs—
 here,
 in this moment.

It won’t be long now
 before we meet.

So, I wait
 in the silence of knowing,
 in this space
 between then and now.

In the Deep

In the deep,
 beneath ash and bones,
 lies a soul—
 a fleeting light,
 a sacred abode.

I saw the crows take flight
 before you exhaled this life.

Pain is but a visitor.
 It haunts the silent hours,
 creeps and crawls,
 spreading thorns
 that I slip into.

As I anchor to this ship,
 the heaviness is set.
 I gasp for air
 and beg for sleep.

I sink into lamentation—
 the edges wounding me as I fall,
 the scabs, fresh and tender.
 My tender heart
 is made of frailty.

I beg not for release.
 Release is to forget.
 To forget is to numb.
 To numb is to die.
 To die is the end.

My pain, my life.
 My pain, my truth.

Carry me to another light—
 a light coloured with remembrance,
 where your greatness resides,
 where the waters are still,
 where a smile finds its place,
 where joy is its purest form,
 where all is fleeting,
 where you will be
 in the end.

Until then, I will dream
 and find solace at the table
 in the stillness of Sunday morning.

I will meet you there—
 when all is said
 and done.