April:

Struggle stands,
So fluid,
Brought to the point.
With muscle sinew,
And tendons smooth.

My perspiration dripping,
Staining each breath.
A false sense of hope.
That I hope, beyond hope,
To move beyond these boundaries.
This constraint of my mind,
And restriction of our soul.
That it would come to this,
You and I.
May it be that,
 A heaven is our guide.

April Cowers:

A little word play, short and sweet:

A trench, frozen ice.
Crevasse, dizzying mountain.
A pulse. Is it life?

April Towers:

The image is self confessed.
The image is self obsessed.
The image is self contained.
The image is self esteem.

We live in our world.
Struggling to get by our caveats.
By the passes of our peers.
We maintain within our feats.
Only by stretching can we reach our dears.

Humor aside.
It goes to show that this struggle,
Is not in vain.
From sun-up to sun-down I see,
A constant fight.

No more of this fight.
There is only success in my contribution.
No more of this plight.
There is only congratulations in this attribution.

I say we will win,
It is a win that is felt,
But is not winning.

April Powers:

I spread the wings.
I'm not sure how far, we will fly.
You must understand that I will fly.
No matter how far.

It can only be a matter of time.
Before you share.
A bite to eat.
Strangely and decisively.

This morsel of life.

Concern

Finally copyrighted something I should have done so back in 2007.

Yeah. It's a story..

April Flowers:

A Toilet:

I cannot fathom a rhyme or reason
to this frozen and unfeeling
monsoon of pressure and depth.
Eroding away my sense of self,
replacing it with needles.
   
Yet,
I am able to hear
a bubble and gargle.
A gasp of breath,
a slosh of displacement.
Slapping wet feet
on hard tile floors.
In a stall near to me.
These bathroom walls are,
so thin.
So clear.
   
Who is it,
that comes for me?
Those jagged nails scratching along the wall.
Is it She,
that has stirred?

I grasp tightly at my chest,
at each creaking rattle.
There are no protective blankets here.
Would they even bother to save me?

I have aroused her hatred?
   
My skin forms droplets of moisture,
rising to meet the bumps in the night.
My breath is shortened,
as her icy grip takes hold.
There are no soft caresses,
Only the touch of Winter.

She, is Hanako-San.
I now know her loneliness.
A goldfish out of its bowl,
I lie,
gasping for life.
Staring out at dirty crevices.
I am embraced by darkness
no longer feeling the cold.
My Fall ends.

April Showers:

A Finger Tap?

A clattering tap,
splattering on the window pane.
On a dark and stormy night.
It is so familiar,
eerie,
calling to me.
With a thunder clap.
   
Is this a messenger of death?
Or simply a carrion for my carcass?
Its black wings waiting to carry me away.
Those glass covered eyes unflinching.
With a cry.

At the top of the hour
a new sound chimes in,
In rhythmic unison,
That comes from within,
A thumping in my chest,
“...someone gently tapping...”

My mind,
back again with a simple rap.
Staring blankly at the page.
No new words arrive,
even with his help
Should I cry “Nevermore”?