Ode to The Street Enters the House 

This room too pure for my liking
Is all but a blackness intoxicating
My sight.  I need vibration and spirit;
An escape from this monotonous aurora.

The tower adjacent, separated only by glass,
Calls my name.
I break free into the outside world;
Rather, I let the outside world break in.

The remnants of a rainbow, one that has fallen,
Paints the town below and soars past and through me
Into the blackness beyond.
My hand serves as a visor for the spectrum of colors.

The warmth from the sphere in the sky
Fires down like a dragon spitting flames;
Rather, like many small dragons floating on the air beside me,
Each igniting small bursts of fire that rest,
And are extinguished by my hungry, deprived skin.

Bricks upon bricks tower above and beside me.
Their surfaces laced with panes either open or closed,
Decorated or naked.  These pilings hold lives, but
On street level brewed coffee and sweets.

The aromas from the kitchens all around
Blend together to create the most utopian perfume
That is free for use by all.  The symphony played by the street
Is enjoyed by my extendable ears.  Even the honks and barks
Are given one note in the melody of the morning.

I see the street below as anything but jejune.
People chatting. People skipping. People whistling.
My eyes, like wheels on a carriage on a cobblestone street, move slow
And carefully to make sure no crack is missed.

Laborers laboring, licentious children laughing away,
And a mailman delivering the morning post all are down there.
The spirit in them is the spirit in me,
And their street is my street.

This rush is not comparable or even unforgettable.
Good thing I can let the street in each day
To fill the crevices of my dwelling.
With a simple hello, do come in, the street enters my home.

~ Katie Bustin

Dawn in the Realm of Death

Inside my heart sat death
Stoic astride his darkened steed, with eyes of fire.
His presence turned black and sluggish the crimson passion of my veins.
Within my life, fueling my ambition, the ember
Blew out, leaving only ash.
Upon his steed, death cast out love from life

And the loss of love from life
Brought triumph to the black of death
Clasp leaves only ash
An whose scythe extinguishes even the hottest fire.
In life, a fire dies and leaves an ember,
But with death, any hope to find warmth is in vain.

Viscous crimson ceases its voyage through my veins
And the brain ceases to storm and life
Is lost but for what other remember
The grasp of death
Joined with his steely gaze and eyes of fire
And all my works become just a flash

Of memory and blackened ash.
Like wind, the reaper moves.  The world is his weather vane,
Changed by his desire.  But death and his fire
Missed a great lesson, that some life glows crimson even in his icy clutch.  And death
Will discover that January will follow
Even the harshest December.

In his hooded black cowl, he will remember
Not all burns to ash
Even in his hour, his twilight, as death
Sits astride his wretched steed with veins
And tendrils of darkness surrounding, a life
With its hope held there in his hand, glows with an inner fire

The tiny fire,
No more than an ember,
Glows soft but exerts light on this plain without life,
Shedding darkness off the bleak ash.
This single ember forms a glowing nexus from which veins
Of light shoots forth, illuminating the realm of death.

Above death’s plain rose ruby fire,
A new day begins in crimson dawn, in vain death fought but the embers

Of life reclaimed burned away his ash and spilled forth upon his once wretched ground a renewed life.

~Matt Nace

Before I Go

As I start to look upon the sun set,
I dream of escape,
I dream of never coming back,
I dream of freedom.
No responsibility, only one
Real need, to survive.
For me, that is all I care about now, survive
Make it through all the horrid things set
Before me.  I’m not the only one
In this world who needs to escape,
I’m the only one dreaming of freedom.
I wish there was a way to take it all back.
Even if it was taken back
Would I survive
Or would I still yearn for a new freedom,
A perfect stage. Ste
For my perfect escape.
A battle only I could have won.
I know it’s the one
Thing I will never get back.
From the consequences and to Survive
For my future not to be set.
To have the right to say I have my freedom
That I will always have my freedom
That I am not controlled by any one
Thing.  That I have not set
Aside my wants and dreams or backed
Off from them to let others survive.
To let others escape,
Leaving me behind, waiting for my escape.
Waiting for the freedom
I was promised and I need to survive.
I will not wait for a single one
Of them again. I will stop looking back,
Until my sun has set.

~Cammie Johanning