by Dawnell Harrison

Loneliness

Loneliness is a knife
At my throat.

Cold stars glare
At me from above.

The silence completely
Shadows the air.

I stand as bare as a
Skinflint tree.
Love has no home here.

The Sunrise Burned

Deep in your soul
The sunrise burned

As the orange leaves
Of autumn twirled

In your heart.
The sweet smell

Of roses bent over
My soul as the sight

Of a white dove
Glimmered in my heart.

The fires of twilight
Tussled in your eyes

As the rain fell
Into the vast horizon
Of your soul.

The Mirage

I am married to a mirage.
The moon rises under

The meat of your tongue.
Forty five years now I have

Worked to pull the muck
From your mouth.

Still it is all exit signs
Leading nowhere.

It is unbearable out here
In the desert having

To endure this intolerable
Heat while you dream up
Your next big mistake.

Icy Waves

The cold moon filters
A stark white light

Icy wave after icy wave.
The silent air thins

And thins in this
Anesthetized talcum night.

Birds have no songs here.
The ice on the lake freezes
The center of my pain.

The Great Taproot

I can see the bottom –
It is like a great taproot.

I have been there before.
I have suffered the brightness

Of the color red –
It moves a great sea

Inside of me and is not
Welcome in my house of sorrows.

Everything is white and as sterile
As a surgeon’s knife.

The sound of the rain comes
In a fantastical downpour

Of astounded souls.
I wish only for silence and blackness-
Especially the silence.