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The House of Love

Updated on December 20, 2009


her  arms open

cold crystal hue

drifting and falling

the waves flow over two

melting hearts into the rose

in the garden’s delight

this we chose

a sliver of night

twinkling high in the sky above

in a motion of desire

is it love

or another tongue of fire






there is a heart

in the center of the earth

hear her cry

for what it’s worth

little meanderings make something

in the wildest of places

let this be the difference

standing between spaces


Another day’s flown by and the words have meaning in that they have no meaning. Whispering phrases pass by my ears, as if someone were trying to tell me something. I just can’t quite hear. Where were you yesterday when all my dreams seemed so far away? Where were you today when I need you you’re far away. Can’t you just come and stay.


I look

see you

see me

the world’s the same

seen differently

in time

we become

light as the sun

dust on the breeze

just stop and believe


we all stop sometimes, look around and realize, nothing stays the same…


The glass box floated down the street surrounded by the parade. Feet pounded the pavement and cheers rose to the sky as inside the box fingers pressed, for a moment gently, then furious, against glass. The form within, a girl curly black tresses cascade over her ivory tones, sees nothing of the parade, of the crowds. For each hand pressed against the interior of the glass prison, three times she pressed her own flesh. Her visage, eyes containing the volatile depths of swirling chaos,  is a cacophony of self wrought pain – interact, react, hurt. There was no escape from the prison; there is no escape from her own flesh. Freedom as a concept, only found in dreams as a reality.

Rain begins to pour down, only within the glass, coming from nowhere, going nowhere. Rivulets run down her ivory tones, through her tresses of night. She feels nothing but react, interact, hurt. Members of the crowd press against the glass, reveling in the miracle they witness: hurt, react, interact. Her eyes never touch them, she only sees herself. Dreaming.

Suddenly the crowd backs away. A fog erupts from within, beneath, around the box. Silky ephemeral tendrils whip out and solidify around the box as it continues past where the crowd stood still.  Pieces of snaking smoke roil and roll around themselves. Stone slate grey eruptions shrink and grow, larger then smaller, more or less.  A curtain is drawn where the glass had stood, opaque, it draws the eyes of the crowd. Within is nothing. Within is something. A man comes forth, in his hand a rose. He looks to the girl in the glass box. The rose in her hand, grasped, bleed the crimson stained blackness from within her. In a moment the fluids meet – scarlet depths finding transparent sleet of sorrow; the glass shatters. Standing alone, the girl looks to the rose. Opening her hand, petals flow to the ground. She walks to the man who’s only waited for her. Purple castles rise from the ground. The dream begins where reality ends.


Au Revoir

An angel tosses her head about

of her love I scream and shout

she haunts me in my dreams

whispering sweet death, so it seems

my heart is a tomb

where I place those dead

emerged from love’s womb

passion paralyzed by words said,

I cover the memories with a veil

made of the blood of love’s tale,

as ripples on time’s stream

with fingers I trail

heart’s end to a dead dream

in a moment

all desires fail





the march, the march of time

ashes on the wind

dust in the eyes

moldering all around us

do you realize

this I speak

as lies in the wind

and into this we weep

as the Gods had meant

in waking fields of sleep

we turned the clock’s hand too far

for our longest walk to halt

we waited far too long…





exquisite as the butterflies

landing upon fields of mist

as rose petals melt and die

a thought’s vision brings tears

the days drift so much further away

the photograph lost through the years

a cast of ivory is all that is left

in a field of mist

where we had once kissed

the clouds part and drift...



You exhale

I inhale

This Breath

Our death

Forever in life

Not a knife

Shall touch

Your throat’s

Lead rush

With notes

A brush

On canvas

We dust

These stanzas.


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    • dyonder profile image

      dyonder 7 years ago from Colorado

      Thank you for the kindness, Nikkij504gurl.

    • Nikkij504gurl profile image

      Nikki Wicked 7 years ago from Louisiana

      love your writing

    • dyonder profile image

      dyonder 8 years ago from Colorado

      Thank You for your kind words, poetlorraine. The words were never mine; they only belonged to the moments.

    • profile image

      poetlorraine 8 years ago

      very deep, enjoyable but deep man