Glass Letters

Safety net woven with honest money.

Not so safe from up here,

and there is more than one type of death.

The ways in which only words can hurt so. 

I am in love with her; the sounds of ah

lang-u-age profound as English.  

I had spent so long in the Dark

jet letters inverted and Became

like glass that refracts Light.

Slaughter of the soul if dreams die.

The reaper waits to reap all that I’ve sown. 

A dead soul behind a cold cubicle calls.

Like how skyscrapers look like tombstones

from a distance; all looks like a graveyard.

Death waits for those to die before their time. 

The labored fruits of freedom call behind

words etched from the soul yearning to be free.

Free from fickle people’s judgment. 

Free from evil: the conditions we were 

born under. LIGHT, there will always be light.

In the darkest of nights, light fights for the contrite.

In the ways that only words of meaning

can. Etched into the back of thin

eggshell minds and even thicker stone.

I have lusted and lost, and I love.

Not once upon a time, for the time is

Now. starved for the poet's serpent milked mead. 

Like Eve, who had the courage to eat of

knowledge: forbidden to her labors of love.