The Box

A beautiful box placed on her pillow
engraved with his constant promises;
coated with His golden rules.

A small latch keeps something inside.
Her finger’s loving touch breach an opening;
the scent of escape flees, the gold falls as dust
and the engravings fade as vapor.

A beating heart revealed inside nestled
within his written note that reads:
“I’m sorry.”

Haunted

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The night consumed by silence;
presence has disappeared with the days.

Sleep becomes the hope; the heart
absorbs what the mind could not endure.

The air becomes cold and heavy upon the lungs;
the pillows stained from someone’s tears.

Death appears in a dream; unspeakable
words echoes in the darkness.

The morning sun casting faint shadows;
memories hovering in the room.

Spirits of “what was” forever tethered
to “what is” left of our souls.

Sanctuary

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Nightmares confuse my days!

My body aches from the constant
push of collecting demands.
Yeah, some heavy shit needs to fall
off my shoulders;
the weight of monkeys
hanging on my kindness.

That feeling of suffocation,
crowded by the overpopulation of
intrusive minds.
I offer a sacrifice for
a momentary reprieve;
realizing I must shake the dust
before I enter holy ground.

My heart is listening
to the tapping of beads
parted by clean hands baptizing
a dirty spirit.

The beats of contemplation
within a groovy mood’s cascading flow;
I sit next to burning incense
to inhale deeply,
some sweet meditation.