Olay!

If ever there was a day
I didn't whine
Or complain away
I would say
I'd found a gold mine
And shout - Olay!

Our Secret

The voice inside her head
Screamed
Just two words...

Tormented 

By the shrillness

Of the screech

Alarmed

By its proximity

Down

She fell

On her knees

Hands over her ears

Eyes shut tight

Her lips muttered

The same phrases 

Over and over 

Again and again

"Chaos of my mind
Be still,
Be kind.
Kindle not
These wicks
Of another mind."

Her sight blurred 

Tears her did overwhelm

Her hearing rang

From thunderous booms

Of these very same words

She never spoke

The feeling of 

That frigid touch

Which made her skin crawl

The darkness
Wove
Its shiny black strands
Through her aura
Like a succubus
Drained all.
All the joy,
All the strength
And most of all
All the innocence.

Her body left limp

Without power

Yet her will,

Her Will

To survive

Took her higher,

Higher 

Than the highest tower.

The air
Trapped
In her lungs
Burst forth
In one glorious breath
She emptied it all.

"Our SECRET

This is no more,

I will not quit

And you Will Destroy not

My inner CORE!"

She reveled 

In victory

And in light

One Star above

In particular

Beamed

With unparalleled might.

For each drop 

She had shed 

Blood and sweat

She realized

Life ended not 

Just yet.

The Creature's Dismay

I left the light on
Listened to a song
Drifted away
To a land never to stay.

A face approached
Reminded me of a roach.

I wondered why

It was all because...

He had ravaged my sunshine,
Broiled my mind inside-out,
Stewed my smile
Turned it into a pout.

Why was he here? Again?
I did not want to know
I wanted not to remain.

My dark days are over.

I WILL not writhe in pity
I will NOT let him be the Smithy.

Inhale...
Exhale...
Thoughts of blue skies
Must prevail.
"Power from within
Heed me over his din!
Strength we must combine
To dispel this foul bile."

The flames heard my melody
And with a vengeance
Scorched on in harmony
Until he was reduced
To ashes
Much to the Creature's dismay.

The Spirit within
Declared
The victim herein
Was simply
A plague,
A pest,
A Parasote
Named
PAIN!

The Staff and the Silver Cloak

One step,
Right foot in.
The large white room
Commands the din.

Motion
Turns to
Gestures.

Speech
Diminishes to
Silence.

The Centre
Gives way to
The Flame
And in succession
The Corners too
Align.

Feathers take flight
Settling upon
A Silver Cloak
Whole one moment
A heap the next.

From the Flame
Rises
A Staff
Jeweled
With emeralds
And studded
With sage.

A second step in
The wind wisps
Through his hair
Then all is still.

The Cloak
And the Staff
Levitate,
Encircle
The young one.

With the third step,
He turns around
Wielding the Staff
Draped in the Cloak
His eyes reflecting
Resolve
His being emanating
Warmth and newness.

The last step
Grounds his Will
A breathe of relief
Overcomes him
As the Walls'
Sage pores
Reminds him
Of Home.

by the strength of His hand

the barren wasteland
Remained untouched
the mystery retained
as the silence resonated
the one
lead through this dry land
only by the strength of His hand

Once Lost

The depths of the ocean

Churned,

Each grain of sand

Overturned,

Each soul in each living being

Raced in anticipation.

Will the murky waters aside steer?

Would they gleam clear?

Will the sunlight penetrate the ocean floor?

Would their voices float through once more?

And bring home joy anew?

The questions unending,

The chords a-bending,

Yet a shimmer of hope

Found in a lost conch

Preserving that which was once lost.

The Teardrop of the Amethyst Hare

Stealthily through the night

He moved,

This creature out of sight.

Slithering across the threshold

Of an unchartered ruin.

A whiff of cool air,

Tempered with the kiss

Of Lady Lune

His bodily warmth 

Was compelled by 

The nearing charm

Of a swamp.

Gazing up

Beyond the peaks and valleys,

He viewed a resemblance uncanny.

For the symbol of Yin and Yang

Was replaced

By that of the stars and dunes.

With a raised brow

And a curious look,

He jotted down the scene

In his porous book.

The varying dimensions 

Of the memory

Could possibly decipher

All that it could mean.

A witness and part 

He must bear

To stop this dance

To the Other's tune.

Alas! to claim victory

He must tear

The Teardrop of the Amethyst Hare

Away from the Other's lair.

The bloodlust overwhelms him

Nomore.

It is freedom

That he craves,

From this jungle

Dark and deep.

To be among his own

Who often

Gently weep.