ZELDA WILLIAMS: MOONRISE ON THE LAKE

if happiness seems impossible to find, please hold on to the possibility of hope, faint though it may be. Because I promise you, there’re enough nights under the same yellow moon for all of us to share, no matter how or when you find your way there.

HAIKU: HOTEL ANXIETY

I used to be so
Comfortable in my mind,
Alone in my skin.

Somewhere, a seismic
Shift jostled loose the threads of
My independence.

My heartbeat echoes,
The only company here
In my hotel room.

I crack the window
Because I can’t breathe. Gasping
And grasping for life.

Home is hours away,
But it feels like light years now.
Are they missing me?

I asked for a double,
One bed for me and one for
My anxiety.

We say our goodnights,
And then I switch off the lights.
The empty floods in.

Hang on until morn.
The sun always warms the soul.
Hang on. Just hang on.

HAIKU: KING MIDAS

Lonely King Midas
Packs his belongings in bags
And boxes with care.

Lost his golden touch,
A godly gift expired
Gives way to freedom.

So many years spent
Isolated and stagnant,
Fearing his own hands.

The penance was paid
With a sacrificial lamb–
The ultimate price.

The king had lost much,
Indeed, but he stands at the
Door of hope and dreams.

His hand no longer
Heavy with the weight of gold–
A lonely metal.

At the threshold, she
Waits, a patient smile and an
Outstretched, fearless hand.

As skin touches skin,
There’s a flash of memory,
Spark of chemistry.

Midas remembers love;
He finds himself reflected
In her deep brown eyes.

Hand in hand, they glow
Not from a golden touch but
Because they found home.

HAIKU: STARS

Thick clouds blind my eyes
Eating moonlight and starlight
And my peace of mind.

Opaque harbingers
Heavy with eerie street lamp
Glow and threat of rain.

The wind changes course,
Giving way to glimpses of
Faint and hopeful light.

Quiet, restless heart.
Have patient faith that the sky
Will be clear again.

Just because we can’t
See the stars doesn’t mean they
Aren’t shining on us.

ONE HUNDRED PROOF NOSTALGIA

Photo cred to brianwallace on Flickr.

Photo cred to brianwallace on Flickr.

Drink a shot of lonely;
Chase it with a bottle of tears.
Smash the glass, light a match–
Set fire to the wasted years.

This seat at the bar is an old friend,
Marked with my name carved in Ash,
Host to many drunken conversations
With ghosts of a sentimental past.

The tab is always open;
They say my money is no good here.
Another round on the house
Of bottomless saturnine beer.

The corner becomes a boxing ring
To brawl with the shadows of my mind.
Knock back some liquid courage,
Puckered with life’s lemon rind.

One hundred proof nostalgia
Burns like fire in my veins,
A poison to kill
The empty apologies, blame, and shame.

The jukebox plays a melancholy melody
Of things once loved lost to chance.
The waltz of the brokenhearted:
Can I have this dance?

Drink a shot of lonely;
Chase it with a bottle of tears.
Smash the glass, light a match–
Set fire to the wasted years.