Stonewalled

I long for these floodgates to burst,

For what I imagine to be made real;

Such a shame that I have nothing but

Myself as the canvas,

and the paint.

Melodies form, falter and die

On fingertips rendered motionless by doubt.

Where shall I go?

Who has my key?

Fires rage in the misty distance, granting the night

A halo of its own;

Every footstep leaves its mark in the ground,

As I walk on further, to lose myself so I may

Reclaim what was never mine.

Observer

Life plays itself on a gilded mirror,

and we can’t help but watch.

Twisted strands of sentiment weave our tapestry,

A slab of obsidian stretching the length of infinity

And the breadth of existence.

We huddle, hearts and minds afraid,

But as falling tears shimmer with the glow of hidden stars,

The mirror breaks and catches the million shards of light

that pierce our core;

The darkness approaches,

And we embrace it with soft laughter.