Black ink and sunbeams poetry

Four hours past ten fog scales the riverbank, winter snares another songbird My love, our rage, caged in November breaks its bindings, restrained no longer for traditions sake for ours is a domain of sorrow hand crafted and laid down between streetlights when, at last, your melody slips its gear and the collector of curses…

Wanderer far from your silver spire, past the exile lands, your pack lost to the river deafened by things broken and discarded they cling to you, a fist clenched, doubt and sorrow stitched upon your shoulders another step, another sliver another poem like a footprint behind you, your ephemeral record for the end of days…

Fisher of dreams, sow the field with your philosophy, posit longing amidst the clouds for when life suspends itself in the crook of your elbow and your line snares another nightmare, even those rapacious trembles that shake you unbidden from sleep, cannot this time deny, your ink-laden design

Granulated, the shape of a soul in flux, shaped and shaped again, weightless as surrender, triumphant in rebirth my friend, the color of your grief is no different than the color of my own, inflections treasure made manifest between the turbulent narrows of sorrow and rage for, when at last, the faithful exhaust their tolerance…

Catatonic, your hearts stilled beating, washed over, hope, ever-rending unsettles the fortune soul My love, the world expires around us, let be what will be and cross the Atlantic, my ankles broken upon perdition, will you carry me?

Falling down, cartographer to my heart, twice afflicted, comb the silt-flats, deviations of despair as before keep your confidence perhaps when impressions of solitude settle like a star unmoored and the wellspring of sorrow swimming behind your eyes dries alongside the Pacific, you will find a glimmer of peace, like gold, upon the seabed

Your prismatic lens rusted over, play dice in the sable light, you’ve gambled before and lost, two masks for eyes, smile made thin by the wasting sickness, even still, feet mired in misery, you laugh, casting tomorrow upon the teeth of fate

Who can say with certainty, the indelible shades of right or wrong, when those who mistake faith for conviction and conviction for righteousness are surprised when that which they did to others returns to them like a curse nurtured in secret and gorged upon grief Exile, cast out, broaden the interpretation of your understanding, kindle…