Gossamer Hearts & Primitive Promises

A gossamer gown ruffled with tule,

encapsulating the autumn light and violently

spewing it out into the winter darkness

for lazy eyes

to gaze upon in foolish glory.

Too much beauty to take in.

Too many cowards to bring

back down

and realize a false idol

stands before them.

Believing she is a pagan symbol
to put faith in,

to trust again,

to be that lover
who makes to the end;

however, she is a god
who regresses deeply

into primitive promises,

dwindling into solitude,
paying homage

to her former flame.

Love for a needle that pierces

virgin flesh,

draining the fruit of innocence

from that single incident

when he walked straight into

her gossamer heart
and molded that fervor
that would rip her apart.

She dies of delirium
and uncontrollable greed

for her top priority need.

Her lover succeeds

in stealing that iridescent seed,

wrapping the delicate trophy

like a prize.

Spewing the last ounce

of her memory into the rivets

of a new era.
Together...everlasting,
the stars are alive.

"Gossamer Heart"
Photo taken by Skye Lyon. 2012.

 

The New Native

I learn to run

and eat away at my

inhibitions of yesterday,

as cannibalistic

as some may say.

The natives said it was ok

to forgive those who

have disowned me...

oh, but how they

overtake me.

I learn to keep

all of my foes at bay

as I eat away at my

anxiety...that is what all

the shamans say.

They confirmed there is no way

to seek sanity

as renegade soldiers
continue to

butcher away

at my idleness.

I run from the east end

to the southern bay,

screaming a victors cry

that must be heard somewhere,

heard in the cross hairs

of belligerent play.

I sit in disappointment of

another day

as you rest in complacence

scavenging the bloody bits

of feeble prey...

I say ok...ok...ok, ok, ok

I am done,

so done.

I can't run.

The village does not
believe me?

I am done,

so done.

I can't run.

You cannot hurt me...

anymore.