Archive for August 3, 2014

Deepest red

The wood of the worn out, out lived,
lived through steps feels smooth,
the fading paint in blisters: was it
originally red or brown?

The ghost who went here often
in her wedding gown, would she
still haunt, or did you make her up
the same way that you loved me?

The wood feels smooth and polished
from years of going up and down the stairs,
is like the ghost and I: fragile, threadbare,
bare, tattered. All in deepest, painful red.

Stranger on a shore

I went to a strange shore to swim
like I did so often at home.
The night came in gold and in red.

It seemed what I was looking for.
Shells broke underneath my feet.
I watched the green lighting sea.

Stars were replying a message to Earth.
I felt home for many reasons that night,
and swam away in familiar waves.

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