Whole

As solid air flowed
amongst the papers
strewn.  Hearts belonging
to ancient Greeks blossomed
and he knew the sound of love was
painfully loud.

I, the broken brother
of gods swimming in Lethe
watched and played on a violin
my sad lament to poor boys, lost
and struck by an insatiable desire
to not feel alone.

Hold on to whence hearts
have gone to feel their own beat.
I stood upon the maker’s shoulders
and wept at the flaws so delicately crafted.
“Man,” he said, “must always feel alone,
else they can never be whole.”

His Spring Face

His Spring Face

(every season I saw)

so similar to these mountains.

I climbed.

In the bloom of his smile

repeats Persephone. 

We were lovers,

she and I.

I Am One

These are the boys
who broke the Summer.
Shirtless, unaware
of eyes lingering on them.
These are the boys
who Winter called its own.
Like demons, something
otherworldly they rise above
this scorching skyline.
Mountains do not stand like
them and their proud faces.
I want one, I want to be one.
Until I awake and realize
I am one.

Embers

The flame has gone out,
but the embers are still
too hot to walk across.
How can the pain still
be so present, the burn
of your rejection, eminent
when I have exorcized you
from every corner of me.
I have let my strong defense
fade in the wake of realization
that I am still human despite
all my differences and desires
to conquer and own.