Fourteen Billion Hands

Solitude extends indefinite
over a wandering gaze.
Moments of uncertain tranquility,
caught in transfixed irises.
Carrying the surface tension
of a lingering kiss.

Orange beams
bleed slowly into frame,
warming the confines
of this cage.
A flutter.
The heart speaks.
Its words lost in
the midpoint of empty spaces.

Loneliness is a word
the World is built upon.
Fourteen billion hands
hold on to
This is not what was promised.


Garden of shame unknown to me

Where are your thorns hidden?

Biding your time telling lies

To those who will listen

Ears of rot that cannot understand

The words pour out from fetid mouth

I am left starving for half-truths

Yet not even a trace of a white lie

Hold on to your heart’s whispers

Filling the silence with presence

That not even death can claim

Until I rise again.