Love and Words


the dark flower of hope


In my city darkness rules, 

broken only 

by the shattered lights of a thousand lives

that are crushed unnoticed.

Tiny points of color

red and green now yellow warning

slow, don't stop, but don't commit to go.

And we take the night 

for what it used to mean

and grow disappointed

in its lack of delivery.

Our poets are silent.

Our singers drunk,

their words spilling out in clumps,

and still we expect

under cover of night,

the litter of their words will be transformed

into illuminating myths of life.

Finding them to only be

scraps of paper 

wasted on our history,

we gather them like leaves

to stuff in our shoes

and pretend as if our soles 

weren't holed but new.

The doors that once provided 

warmth and answers

lie on streets no longer safe,

and the taverns

where we passed our youth,

are filled with people drunk 

with their desire for escape.


And tossed from raucous lit life

into day just dawning,

the silence is unbearable,

making spare moments

beneath the sun,

seem more dark 

than darkness has become.

And still

I choose to live here.

Walking streets

more real in memory 

than what they have become

shadows find me pools

I search for reflections 

of what I have known

and find none.

Turning I leave

emptiness filled with a hundred bodies 


and seek the small alley 

that holds but distant threat of the sun,

The key that fits the lock

that turns and opens to my

sacred space

is old and worn,

and worry do I with each day

I will come home

and it will be too bent or weak

to free the lock and leave me

trapped without

in a city 

where all has become closed in.


It is here

and only here, 

do I sink to my knees

and reveal to the earth

all the life I have within me,

my fingers scrabbling

to find the words I have buried

in soil safety.

In my city darkness rules,

rich and fetid

turns the earth

to deep shade roots 

till they are strong.

Tiny points of color

breaking into the night

red and green now yellow blooming

unseen in this rushing life.

Small breaths disturbing

the stillness of my heart,

I sit and bear the silence.

My words


The songs of scattered birds

illuminating what I would have 

mistaken for gloom

And I see, 

stirrings of something

so slow and beautiful,

so easy to miss,

that it seems of a story

all magic and strange mysts.


But this is life

as it has risen from the soil

time and time before that I 

have stepped over and past,

rushed from brick to stone,

searching for signs in the skies

never thinking to begin with the ground.

And when life and rush

brought me to my knees, 

devastation I did not greet,

but the seedling flower of hope.


decagon          poetry



c.2011 Cassandra TribeAll Rights Reserved