Poetry

Main Theme

My foot comes down on the path

and I am flooded with waves of green.

Grasses, trees, leaves all washing towards me,

and I am a single spark of red on the landscape,

the inside of me just as different

as the outside.

I am destined

for enormous power, so they say,

and I have felt it and seen the sprites

that flock to me because of it.

Yet it’s too much – too much at once – I can’t hold on.

It slips away or I slip away,

the link eroding just as quickly as it forms.

The heat of the moment

gone, my body spent, and now my only choice is to lie

still, watching the world.

Poetry

Ink

It spills out through my veins

my corneas, fingernails,

bleeding from my nose

to splash the page I’m fixed to.

I don’t find it suffocating,

only cold. But

it warms every now and then

when the words demand it

for their dinner.

I like those times.

I like to feed them.