For her, it was never about forgetting,

It was never about letting go,

She didn’t want to start over,

She just wanted to know.

Letters upon letters she held,

Snapshots of the spanning years,

Each its own story of joy and sorrow,

Some crumpled in anger, or spotted with tears.

To be rid of them, she had felt,

Would be removing a weight,

Like casting off the world,

That made Atlas’ knees shake.

No...

The weight is heavy

The power is gone

Every step taken

A stone added to

the pile,

Knees weak: exhausted

The burden too great

Everyone watching

Bated breath hoping

You fall,

Look to the people

And find the kind eyes

Some who may aid you

Will help if you speak

The words,

Just lay down the load

We’ll help take it on

Just ask and you’ll know

It’s okay to ask

For help....

Here I stand before you

My thin veneer broken

And all my deepest fears

Sitting in the open

Words at rest, unspoken

A small shattered token

Glancing all around me

I feel my words choke and

Our eyes never meeting

You see my grief soak in

To polished floor, oaken

Flaws hidden now woken

Here I lay upon it

This veneer I’ve chosen

Shattered into pieces

Now I am heartbroken

Tears go up like smoke and

...

If the outer gate is destroyed

The perimeter is breached

Fires blaze, men deployed

To meet them at the jump

If screams and shouts are heard ringing

A roar in the cobbled streets

Claws and metal singing

Of hate for what’s been done

If blood and rage is seen spilling

Upon the loose, darkened soil

The wounded still unwilling

To give up, despite the numb

If the creatures fall to the sword

Viscous i...

The handle, old and gnarled, an oak as old as time. It is not smooth, sanded, and polished. It is rough and worn but is not held by calloused hands. The blade, used more than any other, a cold, but feeling steel. It is not chipped, jagged, and worn. It is balanced and sharp but does not take lives lightly or in pleasure. The weight, light as a feather, but dense with lifetimes. It is not held at a...

I am not known to most, but if you were to seek me you may find me in the moments of silence. My hood, pulled high, assists me in staying hidden while also allowing me to listen for those silences others take for granted. In my hand, a book. Only one on my person at any given time, but if you were to see my home, my domain. The heavens would buckle under the weight of my tomes. My testaments to si...

A home is made of many parts

To serve many functions,

Functions which can be performed by one

But become something more with others.

A front door, both access and security,

A wood and metal sentinel.

But also a portal, the line in the sand between

A long day of work and saying “I’m home”

The couch, a place of rest and relaxation,

A cushioned creature comfort,

But also a meeting place, where bodi...

It was always me and you,

Us two in inharmonious harmony

Part of me wondered when -

Now and then between stolen kisses and

Becoming Mrs. - exactly when my world

Was hurled and overtaken by your beauty

It blew me away and left me without breath

A little death of my own creation.

A realization I come to every morning

Thoughts reforming, this is how it’s meant to go

For me to know that in my darkest...

It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining with a few white, cotton ball clouds drifting lazily across a stunningly blue sky. The river, with its deceptively fast current, splashes and burbles just on the other side of the rail. There are birds calling and dogs barking playfully. Children laugh and swing and chase at the nearby park. It’s the kind of laughter I miss even as I hear it. And so many lo...

I knew her when she was a thought that escaped my head,

I knew her when she took to crafts of the paper and the thread,

I knew her when she took to war and the people’s “righteous” calls,

And when she would aid her heroes before their final falls,

I knew her when she grew a tree of olives the first time,

I knew her when she was praised in music and in rhyme,

I knew her when she took that girl, ...