The Walking Stick

It stuck out of the ground like a cross,
(maybe that's where he's buried?)
up to my head, barely moved with the coarse wind,
all the trees were naked, brittle, breakable with my palms,
gripping the stick it pricked me and I bled,
yanking, pulling, moving the mound of earth,
sweat dripped while the winter gales rumbled,
lifting it inch by inch as it clung to the soil with angst, purpose,
I cringed from the pain, fled to the empty blue mattress above,
it didn't want to leave, afraid of the outside,
wishing to be forever dug into this grave,
(eventually we're all moved)
thrown into a patch of dead leaves with the stick in my hand,
chest rising and falling like a tired tide,
a few red dots leaked onto the ground,
(nourishment for the past)
it helped me to my feet, offered me something to lean on,
with it I continued up the mountain,
a hapless smile broke across my dried lips,
thinking I may have found a friend.

Moonlight Watz

You've been staring at the same shadow for hours, yet nothing comes,
sleep evades you like a fly swirling around your hazy eyes, never landing,
You've tried to sink into heavy words, but you're still emerging,
so you've resolved to peering into that blackness on the wall.

You're not afraid of the abyss, sloshing images like a washing machine,
it'll seem large with it's million question marked body, but it's as hallow as a ghost,
the most it can do is make you view the past through a small hole,
You've examined all the faults weighing you down, there's nothing but paper airplanes left.

Stretching endlessly under the sun are stone steps,
you've stated to walk, but can't make any headway,
someone is wandering ahead, calling you, you can only make out her hand waving,
you try to increase your speed, but she is always straying away from you,
after hours of trying to chase her, you've decided to take in the sights,
with the heavy sun lying on your forehead, you can't help but smile.