Orion Still Calls Me

It’s been years since I last saw the sea.
I can still hear the waves,
And feel the wind on my skin.
Oh, it’s a sin, a wrong,
But the waters still call my name.
I still listen and look to the stars,
As if seeing that constellation
Will be any consolation
For the absence of my home.

Blue Skies, Blue Goodbyes

Clothes on a different skin,
Rippling in the wind
Blasting from all directions
As I look on and watch
From the clouds
And I can see the crowds
Down below on the ground
But they are so far away.
So far away that I don’t see one familiar face,
Or a point of recognition
To ground me, as

I’m floating on the winds
Before crashing down on the waves
And there I float – there I go –
A speck of white in the big blue.

Lotta Talk

You’d think I would know how to walk, and how to talk.
But when I talk the talk and I walk the walk,
It tends to end in a chalk
Outline on the ground.
My body isn’t found
But my
Head is in the clouds,
Just talking the talk –
Got my feet on the ground
Just walking the walk.


But really I’m just here.
Sitting on the couch –
Talking the talk
Not walking the walk.

Maybe

You treated my heart so well, my love.
Your kisses, your touch –
My seemingly eternal comfort.
I don’t know how I can be this way,
With anyone else than you
And I didn’t want to be this way,
But it is now our truth.

I could write endlessly,
About this end of you and me
And it destroys me –
My soul, that there is now a void
That I can not avoid, even if I tried.

No amount of words is enough
To take the pain away.
But, maybe, if we take it day by day,
We’ll maybe find our way
And maybe, we’ll be okay.

Bones Reign

Writhing masses march
Their way to the pulpit
To preach prophecies
Of the light and grave-
Grace that only they can see.

But, hear ye, hear me,
When the trumpets
Sound! it will not be for them,
But for me, for a holy coronation-
A crown of roses on my head
As I take my rightful place
By my father’s side,
In the grave.

Bones reign.
The son is slain.
Here lies a man,
With no legacy to his name.

Pull, Push, Pull the Paddles

Battles you win,
Wars you lose.
It’s all the same
To the reaper,
Who rings the bell and comes
Whether we are in our Sunday’s best,
Or stark naked, covered in sin.

Oh, pull, push, pull the paddles
Of the dead man’s boat.
You have eternity,
Or at least
That’s what he wrote.