We are not forever, 
though surely, we should be.
Do not forget, where there is Life,
there is Death, and you and me.

But I am sure of resurrection, 
for it is my middle name.
Where there is day, there will be night,
and tomorrow, more the same.

Reach a higher plane of existence
come back again for more.
Keep trying, in spite of dying,
because now, you know what for.

Like a Phoenix, rise from the ashes,
sail high up in the sky.
Feel the heat of a fresh heartbeat,
live life until you die...

The Spell! (Preparation}

a shower to scrub
away with the soil
of the day's worry
of mundane toil

once clean from
daily dirt and grime
prepare a scented bath
to set clarity of mind

A few pats with the towel
handmade, purple robe
a craft of loving care
with lightning strobe

of stars and moons
comfort for any spell.
a talisman 'round my neck
through which to focus will

the alter, previously set
with oil anointed votives 
open my book of spells
once I have checked my motives

The air would not thin. The sun would not cool.
The clock would strike the hour without a pause.
Dust would settle on the things once held.
A scratch on a surface that’s easily buffed out.
The echo of a laugh that fades before you can answer.
The guest who stayed far too late.
A life written with invisible ink,
on a faded page no one intends to read.
The tragedy isn't that you are gone,
the tragedy is that the world didn't blink.

It comes back in pieces-
the warm hush of summer dusk,
the way the carnival lights
blinked awake one by one
like fireflies on a warm night.

I remember the gravel under my shoes
the ticket booth with its peeling paint,
the woman who tore my stub
as if it were opening a secret
meant only for me.

The air smelled of popcorn and cotton candy,
and somewhere a calliope played
a tune I hadn't heard before
yet somehow remembered.