Sacred Vessel

Magdalene, Memorial Gallery Rochester, NY
Magdalene, Memorial Gallery Rochester, NY


Am I looking in the right places?
Fragments of you scattered
across blank pages
and left in empty rooms.

I’m searching for you
in the shelves of libraries,
and in the silent shadows
of abandoned cemeteries.

I swear I hear you,
when I’m walking away
quickly from the crowd,
and in the dark of my room.

At times I feel you,
lovesick and tender;
broken by the plot line or
made full by the act of kindness.

I’m alone with you now
in the quiet galleries,
beneath the goddess
showing me the way.

Weathered finger pointing
to the seat of your throne,
close to my core and
surrounding all I am.


Imminent Flight


Wingless and alone,
walking blindly
into the unknown.
Mute and missing
the music of birdsong.

Staring into the storm,
there is alluring space
between the rain clouds
and the mist, and
the darkness on your face.

No place left to go,
you walk corridors
of forgotten institutions;
archaic knowledge littering
walls that resemble your flesh.

Your true journey
is within the scarred chambers
of a tenacious heart
that beats in time
with your anxious mind.

You stand quaking,
ancient memories beckon.
No one guards the open doors,
but you feel the heat
of a dragon’s tongue.

The air burns brighter,
dryer than the storm’s grey face;
flaying your skin
as you shift into shadow,
moving towards grace.

Cocooned and shrouded,
closer to your truth,
wrapped up in darkness
it’s impossible to see
your imminent flight.





In her dark skies
she walks above the
curve of the moon,
ice bright
with the coldness
of diamonds.

When upon her stage,
we stumble
to our knees.
Our mortal cage
cannot support
our racing hearts;
blood speeding
through tender veins,
unable to acclimate
ourselves to her
feral grace.

But ask,
is she Kind
or Cruel?
Does this all
not come
with a price
of sweat and pain?
There is no grace
without a sacrifice;
the loss of something
for the gift of another.
By whose scales
does she weigh
the cost?

Your heart
is pure light,
denser than gold
yet without weight.
It will never be enough
in her hands
though it’s immeasurable
in it’s magnitude.
Cold Star,
she shall never
find it’s value
nor appreciate it’s worth.


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