Illusory Muse

You pierced my forehead
with a crystalline thread
and drizzled
your golden honey down,
glistening and sparkling
in the light
of a spectrum unknown.

Weaving with mine
and spiraling quickly into
a complex warp and weave -
that long lost
something,
that thing we know
we share,
but cannot
talk about.

Coughed an eyelash
in my eye,
turned once more
towards the sky. 

I was the muse
all along.

The Fallen

Can burnt bridges be rebuilt,

some might say it's so.

This time is lost 

and found again

and what of these years have passed -

we are not now 

what we were back then

even if we still might dream,

that those times before 

could come again

and bring us haunted things.

To haunt, to have, to die again,

to leave it all behind.

What of these strange

and broken strings

that bind and hold us fast?

What good could come

what bad befall

behind these bleeding eyes,

that closed for me 

a doorway to

before this now was then.

It isn't, it was, it should've been,

but it wasn't

so now it won't.

But "IT COULD" I scream!

It can I dream

be brought up from the ground,

this sooty bedrock,

these blackened beams

compacted over time,

washed hard with tears

and strong with years

reformed, refinished, refined.