Category: Poetry

light fog sits thick
atop an empty field, stained
with the night's tears;
its blades bent under
the weight of their sadness,
waiting for the first rays
of sunlight to cut
through the mist
and loosen the muscles
of their bent backs,
releasing them to stand straight
and carry their burdens
unbowed by the night's cares -
basking in the glow of the sun.

Misunderstood on the outside
my own path I wander
at times - all alone - I ponder
stepping aside, avoiding the ride

to the safe haven of conformity.
It is my path, and I walk alone
though fear shakes the marrow bone
I know I'm free, so I flee

to a place within this world
where it costs nothing to think
and one is free to scuffle and slink,
curled in on oneself, waiting to be unfurled

in the whipping wind of white hot
confidence that comes from strength
and hope - a sliver at arm's length -
we have not left our dreams to rot

by wandering this path alone.

Your hunger, your need
leech life from those you love -
held up to your mirror
they shatter in trying
to achieve the perfect reflection
you have created
in your expressions of desire -
ever more complicated -
twisting and stretching back
to the needs of the child
most have outgrown,
but you cling to with weak
fingers, grown desperate
over the time
you have failed to grow;
now, no more than a husk, a shell -
though you are beautiful
it is the fuzzy beauty 
of the caterpillar,
not the elegant beauty 
of the butterfly.