Hades Claimed His Due

No more flowers. Their bloom bears too much color. No red, no peach, no trace of blue against white. I cannot bear more than grey. No more sky. There is not much it holds for me any more. Every dream that was sent had spent their moments there. Little wishes, smiles upon moments. Had I found a shirt she’d like or a song I wanted to share. In the wind now, blown far from my sight. No more roads for me. They all are bleached with the color of ghosts. They call at every hour, and sing that chorus of … Continue reading Hades Claimed His Due

What Dreams May Come

No candles any more. Just dark. No sleep that lasts. Just light. Such a useless thing that days are. Seeing naught but what has shattered. No dreams any more. Just blades in the night. They stab my heart until it drips morphine. No colors about the sky. Just time upon a saturine sea. That water that drowns all but tears. No moons any more. Just cast reflections against the tide. That pale phantasm that reminded me I loved her. Just blurry ripples, then it’s gone. – Mitsuo Tanaka Continue reading What Dreams May Come

Vanish

At the pace of every falling star. Mirror of the night, across dark lake. The destiny of moments, as much as dust, as much as the distance of those pale flickers. Ever still, forevermore now. Then kiss, what then? A beauty that makes all other things seem ill. Onyx treasure, in every glance she gives. That there is warmth in the chill of every breeze. That the dawn would rise and bloom as roses do, as she would waken. One day, all moments such as these. With her, only her, always her. – Mitsuo Tanaka Continue reading Vanish

Blue Collar

The drop of coin, the rustle of dusty clothes/dirty boots, brow still sweaty and beaten/lantern lit upon that old porch/swing on an old oak, laundry just about dry/the sun a murky orange upon its last rays of the day/warm bath, hot dinner, cool night wind/tomorrow one more day of toil, but in dreams, the weekend comes/children laughing, old friends and cold brew, a new blue dress for the missus/just whittle the week away in that grind until such time/under lit moon and the stars that call upon sleep – Mitsuo Tanaka Continue reading Blue Collar