Winter Rain

The skies are grey, and so is
my soul...
the drops that fall are icy
and cold
and void of feeling or pain
But not so the drops that fall from
my soul.
These bear the heat of a brand,
scorching my countenance as
they fall
Leaving tracks of burnt flesh and wounded
spirit.
And so I stand at my window and turn my face
to the sky
so that the drops that fall thereof
may cool the burn
and I watch the steam as it rises
from my pain and curls
drifting out and down under
the winter rain.

The Longing

Dry the Sahara -
soak up every
particle of sweat that dares trespass
on the perpetual sanded dunes

Scorch the center
of that inextinguishable ball called Sun -
implode every atom, burn every molecule
of the abundant Element that persists

Freeze the Tundra -
that cold, barren place
where no life grows but the lichen
and even that is devoured by those who yearn for the heat
that burns true

Melt my heart
that darkened Spector of a once-was-flesh
the hardened culprit in many a crime
that beats in the solemnity and solitude of millions like it...
alone

Pour in the blood
wash out the ichor - the stain of the wrong of her years
cleanse with the red, swath with the white
and yield this moment a softly pulsing,
truly living,
honest red in my breast.