Twenty-One, Day

I did not think that I would make
My way this far today
Every step seems so small
I hardly want to pray.
I never know what to say
When I bend my knee at night
I feel the whip crack in my bones
And I don’t want to fight.
I find it hard to ask for love
After all these years
“Make the best of what you have,”
I tell myself with tears.
I want an ease inside of me
Though the world’s a storm
But in my heart the tempest blows
And I am not so warm.
The rain it freezes on my face
As I strain under the load
The way before is rough and steep
And fearful tidings bode.
I see the ravens circling
Perhaps they know a thing or two
about myself that they would share-
about what will come due.

Twenty, Day

The magic, dear
is in the air
and you can feel it on my skin
gods and devils roam around
claiming souls again.

I did not stop
and did not hope
and did not feel
the fear inside–
I was too numb
and born to late
a heart too old to die.

Yet now I feel
though just a bit
and want to dream again–
but still my heart is very old
and I would lay it down.

Seventeen, Day

The dead never really leave you
But you can try and give up all those things
The ones that distract you
The ones that keep you from seeing strait
The ones that make it a little less easy
a little less easy to remember.

When you see strait it can be hard not to shake
and twitch
and go cross-eyed
The clarity is deafening
The seeing is blinding
Everything hurts
and there is no relief in sight.

Come let us celebrate
Let us give thanks
Let us worship
The world is a fire
and it burns almost everything.