Illuimination


Alone, I set fire to
all the lights in my house
and in that illuminated inferno
I still deny myself
the common courtesy of
looking straight, into a mirror
for fear that I may not find
the light inside of my pocketed eyes.

Stained Glass


We were as fragile as stained glass
and you knew,
I had set out the base and you
painted with me our memories,
stained them into a glass that would
reflect ourselves with the colors of our past
softening ourselves in the light.
Yet as your heart grey weary
your hands drifted, our brush was dropped
mixing unintentionally the reds blues greens
of our lives into a black that spread,
spilling into the crevasses overtaking the spaces
intentionally left blank now highlighting our love
through dark contrast and
unfortunately black does not reflect
the light all the well.