His Judas Kiss

Let it be done with,
the unraveling ended,
his Judas kiss
no longer wet on my cheek.
Recover it - my heart - from
the wreckage, that I may
forget his touch
and unlive the days spent
loving. Those
days are lost.

Will I yet live again
new in resurrection
the cynicism gone
from my breast?
Uproot my heart, revive it,
from the man who unjustly
housed it. Let it be
quick, our closing,
let it be now, in this breath.

No longer the lamb
dead in the
jaws of the lion.

We Are One No Longer

It has begun,
the declination of one -
the rapid descent into two
and there was no warning,
no decent admonition
no alarm of our unity's decay.

My lilies have hung their heads.
They once bloomed for us
sprung forth of deep, rich earth.
Would they not wait with me,
and yet the premature wilting
has made its claim,
and my lilies have hung their heads.

Our sun has set,
and tomorrow it will not be rising.
Night has come with an
abiding grip on the heavens,
and even stars that burned for us
are no longer burning.
Our lights have diminished.
Our sky has blackened.
Our sun will not be rising.

And what of our flesh,
the bone of our bones,
the fruit of our joining?
What of our roots and their
intertwining?
What of our days spent laughing
and our quiet moments
embracing?

Hide them up,
uproot them from within my being,
tell me they were not.
For my love is gone,
I have lost him.
We are one no longer,
and two
is the loneliest number.

Let It Be Together

Let us ride out this storm
in our meager and weary ship
but let it be together
that waves rage against us
and rains beat down
into our exhausted souls.

Sail with me under
skies that threaten
with a black vengeance
to drown us in an
unrecoverable despair,
under lighting that
shakes its fist with
a furious conviction
to set us ablaze.

Be not dismayed
beside me,
and let us combine
our two hearts
and unite our wills together
with our Maker's
that we may stand
while the world is falling
and embrace while
others turn their backs.

But be not moved beside me
and we will ride out
the storm until we sail
on a placid sea
and the sun breaks through
with a golden promise
that we have made it,
and none can break us apart.

He Is Gone

It is sufficient to
say that he is gone,
nothing left behind
to put away in my box of
Anything Worth
Holding Onto --
maybe some memories
that I can't decide if
I should keep or
dig a pit for.

Where is the tombstone
that I may stand over
and do my mourning,
or the newly poured soil
that I may weep my
eulogy upon?
I have roses for
his passing and
love letters,
simple tokens of
my affection, but no
gravesight to set them on.

Some say that he is not gone,
but I know better.
They point me to a man
with lying in his eyes
and indifference in
his laughter.
Body and bones, but no soul
needing nobodys to
love him, to validate
his misconceptions
of life and purpose.

No, he is not the the one
I mourn for.
Sufficient to say that
he is gone.