Mother’s New Spring

‘Tis the season of the light

In the darkest of forests

Where the titans of industry

And their dominion of consummators

Devoured themselves into a long abject night

With aberrant appetites

And a deviant abuse of nature’s resources.

 

Now, from the black forests, a sublime sight

A spark; a glean of new reality

Begins to transform a long death

into life again

As mother’s loins return to fertility

And the plasmatic fluids congeal

 

To pubescent forms of growth in reveal.

Being Inside the Outside

Being Inside the Outside

 

Whereas daylight’s grace might recognize

the trodden faces standing at the edge

along the uncertain path to perdition

the night’s cold embrace forbids any fiction

and rather punishing and unforgiving to foolish eyes

that dare walk out unto the darken outside

unprepared; hoping to find a hearth being inside

 the dwelling places that fate denies

or memory’s love lost  in lonely disguise.