Such presence in silence
this god of the sea
I knew who he was
but he didn’t know me

He relaxed his pose
and slowly he said
“What interest have you
in gods that are dead?”

I’ve interest in stories
of love and of rage
such tellings of old
are meant for the stage

And I love how the gods
are willing to trade and
bring you smooth sailing
for the alms you have paid

Your memory lives on
and your legend is great
don’t let the people
decide a god’s fate

And Poseidon, he smiled
“Thank you my friend
I’m not quite ready
for my legend to end”

<3Christine

A King may have all of the riches
and power to rule without waver
but a god with no
prayers
is a fish out of water

The hunger of your ego
doesn’t even possess the luxury
of ceasing to exist
A mortal’s death would surely suffice
but an immortal body would never allow it

And so you linger, like the scent of sunshine
after a long summer day,
watching and waiting for a true believer
to resurrect what has long laid dormant
an honest to god undying magic
the Forgotten Father of Winter’s past

But you say: “Slow down. I’m not ready yet. If light can take its time and cling to the horizon, so shall I until there are no more shadows. Let my body rest and my mind speak over the matter at hand.”

The figure nods “This I will allow.” And every door opens. Suddenly, you must choose.

Every door is different but familiar. Mahogany, marble, and massive piles of stone but all are doors. They are cracked opened, if only to tempt you with colorful light from an unknown source.
You lay a hand on every specimen and realize that none of them offer what you seek. The figure notices. “Are you not pleased?” a smile creeps across its features, “Shall we go then?”

“No,” you are firm, “I know that what I’m looking for exists. It is here somewhere.”

Desperately you search, opening and closing doors but never stepping inside. The figure chuckles at your desperation and everything turns cold. Except one door.

One door radiates with heat but escapes your eyes. You search and the laughter gets louder. “You will never have what it is you seek” said the figure. You do not listen. You feel warmer in your heart ever as the cold bites at your ankles.

And then you find it. Not a door necessarily but an opportunity, warm and made of flesh. You smile and it smiles back. No; he smiles back. The cold figure has disappeared. In fact, you don’t remember what the figure looks like. Not anymore. Cold becomes a foreign sensation. The light leaves but so do the shadows. All the doors behind you shut. You have chosen.

One sails north to find
better things
for his scholarly mind
to attend to
(while his heart lingers on her)
And if his search is fruitless
he will wait for things
to find him
If nothing else
he is patient
And when he grows thirsty
(as he often does)
he will think of nothing
but her voice,
like water,
whispering his favorite words

The other flies south
for the colors
and songs birds
Flies south for her
own intellectual prospects,
expensive but promising;
when the days seem long
she will take it as a challenge
and fill the hours with music,
(sad but beautiful)
And when the sun no
longer warms her
feathers, she will long
for her northern star
more than ever

What may have seemed beautiful in
front of your eyes was
mere disguise to hide all
the lies that you won’t
see in time.

He sang of your beauty
so often it led you
to believe that the dread
in your stomach was all in your
head, but it had been months
since he meant the sweet words
that he lovingly said

A joke hypothetical would
some day be literal
but how could you know?
Your heart was collateral
but a temporary loss
for all you would gain
from walking down roads
hollow and cold and somehow it
ends in a light that is bold
and warm on your skin
the Yang to your Yin,
if I may

and not til this day
did things start to click
into place where you are
as if written with stars on a map of the sky
drawn before time
so keep mind over matter
but keep this in mind
it all won’t make sense
until you put it in line

Although you are on the brink of destruction
your biggest fear is drowning in your own tears
and a broken heart,
the most treasured part, torn to pieces
and left on the floor, forgotten
There must be something in the air
that’s making you feel this way
The darkest places, although full of unknown,
may be hiding the greatest treasures
And when all else failed and the ground
started to crack
Love took your face in both of his hands
to protect you from the outside pitter patter
(threatening to pull you under)
A kiss told all of your secrets
and he loved you more still

For a heart in strong hands
has no worry of falling
no matter how uneven the footing

Make a little room
for this build up
of hope
to smother your fears
I know it looks grim
but I’ll light the way
with a torch in each hand
to brighten the eyes

No wolves in the garden
hungry with greed
to swallow the seeds
of all our hard work
beneath all the dirt
is life, after all
above it is air
and a lone lily
stands, firmly and free

wake me gently
to leave my dreams
floating
oblivious, unknowing
to my firm, reaching hand

plastic paradise
or soon to be
high glass walls
your world,
your aquatic cathedral
rocks and a
solitary,
green tree in which
to sit.
I imagine those were
the times you
did the most thinking
whatever it was you
thought about

In the sun you
glittered like a
Christmas ornament
and, in the same respect,
brought such light
and life
to an otherwise
barren bookshelf.
I never knew something
so small
could make me so happy.
And yet so heartbroken
when absent.

I gave you more
credit than most
and I sacrificed a
reputation of sanity
to spare you a few words.
For a creature who
lived, ate, and
loved a plastic tree
(more than I thought possible)
I adored you as if
I had brought you into
this world myself,
plastic bad in hand.

And what’s in a name, anyway?
Mostly irony, in
your case.
Although red, an innocent
life
was lead
down to the last pebble
and like your name sake
you left us in spring
a time of pinks and yellows
but no red
just empty glass
and an unoccupied
plastic
tree.

RIP Mussolini, the red beta fish. May you find many plastic trees to keep you happy in the big fish bowl in the sky. I miss you.

And in the crazy every
day
stop and go
for reasons unknown,
I forget.

A touch of electricity
to power up this heart
to charge up these parts
that depart
when your sad eyes
round corners, smoothing
the edges
of vision that’s blurred
I can’t find the word

So I’m left feeling hollow
like a lead with no follow
or a chord without melody
but if you were here
you’d find me a remedy
I know.

Reunited our love will explode
in so many colors
in extravagant wonder
with lightning and thunder
My eyes will open and so
will the skies
to realize
my demise when the
sun starts to rise
and I don’t see your
eyes staring back into mine.

The line is so fine
between dreaming
and real
when the love that
you have
give dreams no appeal.