If Only

I stop
For only just
One moment,
Never taking
Longer than my
Yearning for you allows.
You, whom I
Only trust
Under certain
Circumstances.
Only when
Unrealistic expecations
Lord over me the
Dreams of
Knights in shining armor.
Nightmares of monsters
Of dragons and
Witches
Warlocks
Hags,
All curse me
To live
In this
Waiting for you.
All stare while
Sinister thoughts
Raid my
Ever-dwindling hope.
All make the
Longing
Linger.
You don't see
The pain.
How it crushes
Inward and will
Never let me stand.
Kneeling, I grasp and
I struggle for
Nothing. And my
Grave is dug deeper.

October

Eight years old,
Sent out into
The wild
To gather the
Cast off trappings
Of nature's
Wooden wadrobe.
Fresh dew adorns
Dappled autumn leaves
While flitted wings
Skip from withered
Blossom to
Withered blossom.
A wheelbarrow sits
Filled with treasures
Of the fallen kind
Guarded by three
Feet of freckles
And auburn hair.
A man of pumpkins
Keeps watch o'er
The road
In his cracked
And weathered
Plastic throne.
The smell of death
Is sweet
And mingles with
The chill
Of October air
While cars pass
Over nature's
Red carpet.
Called by name
Comes running
Three
Feet of freckles
Into arms
That bury auburn
Hair and leave
October chill
Outside
The broken screen
Door.

Unable

All I could do was stand and stare. I heard the wailing of the crowd behind me, intermingled with drunken cheers and shouts of vulgarity. What a horrible place to die.

A woman stood to my right, weeping and crying out, reaching her hands to the heavens in pure desolation. Some others were gathered around, close to the bottom of the tree, prostrated and sobbing. But all I could do was stare straight ahead. Droplets of rainwater slowly moved through the crude grooves of the bark. I stared so hard at the base that I knew it like the back of my hand. The holes plastered with dirt and grime. The rough edges splintering in every direction. The stain of blood. Blood. I felt something warm drop on my cheek. I raised my hand to touch my face, and it came away red. I tried to look up, but I didn't really want to see. I was there, wasn't that enough? Did I have to look too? No. Let me just stare at this expanse of mahogany in front of me. Another drop fell. And I wiped it away, this time without even looking.

The wailing of the crowd grew more distant, and then stopped entirely. I turned around, and no one was there. I looked to my right, to see the woman still kneeling, hands still outstretched, mouth still agape in crying out. I turn back to the wooden post in front of me. Another drop falls on my cheek. I can't move my hand. Another drop falls. Another drop. Another. Just let me be, I think. I'm here. I'm sorry. I can't look, but I'm here. That's enough. It's enough. Another drop falls. The blood runs down my forehead, and stings my eyes. I close them. I can't help it. I don't want to see anymore. I can't even look at the tree in front of me.

Amber

The cool rock wall
Chills me

And I can't tell

If I'm drowning.

The slick water

Covering the face,

Moistens my hands

And smells
Like rich dirt.

I step further and further

And further,

Further,

Carefully

Making my way

Across 

The algae-covered stones.

The misty light
Reveals the particles
Of dust
Along its beam.
A drop of water
Trickles,
Endlessly
Dripping, dripping,
Dripping
Into an unforgiving
Abyss.
Slip.
Splash.
Dampened clothes
Cling
To my flesh.
Something swirls beneath
The surface.
Dark circles
Mingle with
The amber fluid.
Unfamiliar sounds
Echo, echo
Echo
Bouncing back
And forth
Between the damp
Surfaces.
There is nothing
And no end;
No end
To the damp.
No end
To the dripping
Water.
No end
To the dark
Circles
Mingled with
The amber fluid.