It was a message in the fires of June. Red honey composed the text, vague and gossamer. The letter begged me to wait, in what pain silence gives. Crush what blue the sky had that day. In her last message, ash and cinder on my eyes. In what was more than lust on velvet bed now lays icy. In what now is but a chain to something now left wayward. No dreams of other shores. Just wait away from the warmth of the June fires. Always here, until my eyes close in these shadows. – Mitsuo Tanaka Continue reading Bygone

Plutonian Sway

Forbidding, under ill angel. Every color bled into the dark. Ichor rather than wine, soot rather than hearty fare. Silence instead of echoes through this night. Breath fogged upon window, fade every tear shed, every sob muted, until there it’s back into the sky. Under every unlucky angel. Every ring glistens less, every song left out of tune. Wander then to dimmest light, for that bit of warmth, that memory of day. – Mitsuo Tanaka Continue reading Plutonian Sway


Sliver, yet shine. That bit of sun through the cracks of this cold wall. Stone, bare, but stalwart. Touch with my hand all that should be gone. Memory, in laughter, echoes as if a phantom leaving in the morning light. These keep walls, staunch upon the years. Held now by shadow and tear. Locked, chained, sealed in that grasp of ever. Wend what roads I must go now. – Mitsuo Tanaka Continue reading Silence

Past the Silver Mirror

There, in dream, and my eyes see but her. Gazing, tonight, at sky. Light of silver, and past, crimson, emerald, azure. Amber leaves fall, from what tree of ether, and the nevernight comes. What then her? Upon every ring upon every star, her song. Breathless in such grace, resolve, and the sun moves in step to her sound. As if dawn, dusk, then dawn were for her. As if I could only sleep, waiting for her. – Mitsuo Tanaka Continue reading Past the Silver Mirror

For Gwen …

Is this not so? Gliding, across her fair skin, as if the sun itself was made to bring her light. Dazzling, it must be, from only what smile she can conjure. Such electricity, such brilliance, and the deities themselves woven what tapestry she is. Strength that makes what dismal day lit. The candle that softens in what late of night. What heart would beat, if not in my chest for her, and only her, and cause me great sorrow should but one tear fall. She is beautiful, is this not so? – Mitsuo Tanaka Continue reading For Gwen …