Salvation of Many Wings

I am content when wakened birds
Wake me from my dream
Before they fly, they test reality

My reality is an illusion
Remote as a vision in perpetual flux
Of misty fields, by sweet questioning

I live a half-life of indifferent blue
Upon the grey and white shores
Of what I call birth and death

The years pass, I am a biological spark
Neither the golden underground
Or the woman of my dreams can release me

I am content when wakened birds
Whisper to me that I may fly too
They wake me from my dream

With feminine whisperings of procreation
A much more friendly part of paradise
Where labor seems natural and eventful

April’s green endured desires for June
Tiptoed and spent on wings of consummation.

Photography Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Panorama-Of-Ondic-398431868

Ballad of Last Light

The sun is tangled
In my prayers for sunset
It doesn’t matter than
I’m at the goldenth hour of my life
I’ve been changed to a bird

So many times, it’s difficult
To count, was I a Phoenix?
Or was I a Dragon?
I fell in Love with Asian
A long time ago, lifetimes ago

Terrified by the clash
Of wind and grass
I became an ethereal thing
I commit daily suicide
As a human being

And walk as a spiritual creature
In literature, the sun is tangled
In my silver hair
Between sky and water
I’ll leave my songs

Pet the Serpent of knowledge
In darkness, I’ll set myself a home
Pulling a flower out of moss
I’m a hung man’s last shivering
The sun is tangled at my feet
In my invocation for dawn.