Call to Arms

I look across the mirror at you -
a reflection’s reflection, framed.
I offer you the world, upon a word,
wrapped in brown paper, our world –
The one place we make sense,
where we understand each other
Completely.

Step from the mirror, take my hand,
know your place, vastly penned empire
of words beyond measure like brushes
Upon canvas, stars upon night,
sand upon shore.

This is our nature; blow off your dust,
as the muse’s lips brush delicately
Over the lobe of your ear, commanding
Your creativity into action
like a mare in heat, waiting
to be taken, explosively.

Helen of Troy

It was the golden age,
A time when all eyes
looked upon you
looked upon me.

The masses were filled with envy -
but we saw only each other,
our faces framed in pictures,
our stances cast in stone.

How they all longed to be us,
to be epic like we were.

A romance to span time,
and yet -
you let me go once,
let me slip away,
despite all your words,
despite all the love,
You didn't cross that gap.

You went silent,
dead in the night,
and I was whirled
into another's arms.

Epic love lies in ruins,
ancient ruins,
buried in time,
but now you reach for me,
reaching into the heavens
trying to pluck me like a star
from the sky.

But the eyes of the masses,
how they linger,
how they caress,
all searching for their chance,
their own way to be written in,
a way to touch that love
that shines from the depth of my eyes.

Shores of Self-Analogies

I feel like the shore
With the tide having gone out
Leaving all of my bits
Exposed, glared upon.
It is only I
That realizes too late
No matter how I fought
The tide
It is meant to be
Pulled away.

Thus I discover myself
How all that I am
Adds up to be me.

I can only be myself
But that self can change
Altered by the currents,
Rearranged beneath the tides,
Fractures and fragments
Picked up and carried away
Or deposited unseen
Til the tides reveal me again.