Tristesse
Bursts of colored lights strike glass domes,
where twisted trees make their homes, branches picking
at clods of dirt at the bottom of the sky.
My heart, a larger system,
their walls no longer protect me, and I have sliced them
down the middle, sipping wine.
I die among friendly stars.
I toss the air, my angel.
who holds me close.
I find no solace in the world.
People stare, friends never call me,
enemies no longer mock me.
After I was born, I knew at that moment I wanted to die.
The lost planets have opened up their mouths to my dark moans.
May 14, 2009 -by Kris Tilbury
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When My Eyes are Closed
I've been here long all by myself
but I'm not going to stay until the stars finally burn out.
My solemn whispers and anguished sighs have flown away from
me..., into the day, landing with the cool night.
Radiant mist patterns reflect in a water mirror;
they fly across a domed expanse, throwing luminous
shadows everywhere, entreating my tired eyes to embrace their
shimmering warmth.
If there was ever a place I would love to see and feel within
my distant body and mind
I have been there, hiding as a dull, complacent figure in a dry land.
I walked, holding my heavy head just above my shoulders…
One foot always ahead of the other.
(posted 8 July 2008) -by Kris Tilbury
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Dark Sun
Caught in fleeting seconds not calculated by a steady heartbeat
The sky pierced and sliced into black shards
ice crystals spilling into crusty blood with a crash and a scream
fades in and out of the soft, cosmic wind....an existing echo not far behind,
trailing beyond the small threads of imagination...
These threads can never escape the small jar in which they are forced to
inhabit. They can only carry their truth so far.
Within...without...a sun's silent words gliding past moon white streamers
crossing one another, over and over, above and under
Melting into each other into hypnagogic liquid
Dancing through cheerless rooms where fountains of smoke and ashes
infect mirror images, warped dreams cast away from the bedpost, and dead acts
of love silenced, yet broken whispers still permeate windy spaces.
(posted 6 July 2008) -by Kris Tilbury
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