Secret Identity

 I learned no one would save me from myself

but me and decided

there was something I had to be,

and this would not be my

supervillain origin story--

but I still have a secret identity.

The feats of strength like

lifting the weight of my dreams

changed me. 

No cape, just a torch

the Statue of Liberty coul not rep.

And dropping it feels like arson.

With great power comes great--

etc.

But no one else has to know that.

My greatest enemy does, though,

and she has been 

burned.

Brown

 The hue of my second sunrise

is brown

like the coffee I try to drown

the last of night's 

half-remembered dreams in,

or the rich soil I plant

the seeds of my 

half-baked schemes in.

Like the darkest amber my

gadfly wings could

be trapped in?

No! Like the softest fur

my trembling soul

could be wrapped in.

If I could only start all my days

in the warm glowing dawn

of his gentle brown gaze.

Absence

 I have been stealing looks at you

but you have stolen my breath

every time--

let's call it even.

Flashes of your radience burn

bright against my shadows

leaving images

so real they stay with me

even in your absence.

I feel you on my shoulder like a bird;

your absence takes up space

with me.

It nearly speaks.

But all I hear is something

like a distant song,

and feel longing.

Smithing

 The key to my heart was lost--

so much had happened before.

It once was left in the door.

It once was kicked onto the floor.

It sat there for days;

no one bothered to pick it up.

it was jammed one time 

the wrong way

and twisted.

The last few times

the key seemed bent,

and my heart resisted.

At long last I went 

and changed the lock. 

It might be a nasty shock--

but next time--

I have learned,

the right to hold this key

will be earned.

The Pious Pilates

 Was his blood even cool

before you dipped in one accusing finger

to paint his character

assassin-red?

And did his self-sacrifice

say nothing to you

of anyone else

that ever bled?

You find the cross

convenient to wear

but watch a fallen man

saying it is

not yours to bear.

You have found your feet

to stand for a lie--

it is the same as

condemning a man to die,

not once,

 but twice.

frozen in death,

destroyed by ice.

You carry nails in your pockets

seeking candidates for Calvary

and wash your hands so publicly. 

Anathema. 

Anathema.

You never-whitened sepulchers,

let the blood stain you

forever.

Revelations

 She told her secret to anything

that would never breathe word

to a soul, because the truth pushed

from her ribs, flooded her throat,

coated her tongue--

but could not be heard 

for all the world.

It was only true. 

She told the moon

and it turned its face and buried

her secret for her 

in the tide.

She told the sun and it 

blushed to hear, and

made fog from the 

morning dew.

She told the stars that were so far away

it would take them forever to hear--

but somehow, they already knew.

And she found herself

telling the God she didn't believe in,

so she could hold her secret

in prayer, at least,

if she could hold him nowhere else.

Faith exists for truths

like these,

when there is nothing 

you can do.

The View from Here

 There is a door

I don't want to close.

Nothing will come of it,

I suppose,

but when I find myself

with little to do

I look through it and 

admire the view.

And every once in a while

a warm breeze

blows through.