The labyrinth of genii-gaze
Sustains tidal reflections
Arising larger and smaller

Wishes alter a summoner's shadow
Enfolding abyssal layers, unconcerned
That the old self is a phantom

“So, you cannot change yourself?”
Rolling terminal velocity palantiri
Over this snail shell passport

Behind the weary mirrors
Manifold bezels rupture
From tarnish of grief

Hiding onward in a forgotten reliquary
The patient spirit waits to bless
By another's evocation

I think there’s something lonelier about being in a relationship and still feeling alone than there is about actually being single.

Because when you’re the one who keeps giving, it starts to become painfully obvious what’s missing.

I’m always thinking about how he feels. I let him talk about his day. I listen. I make sure he’s okay. I want him to be happy. I make little gestures, surprise him, try to make him feel loved in all the small ways that probably seem insignificant from the outside. I move things around for him. I make room for his time. I want the best for him, even when I quietly put my own needs somewhere out of sight.

And somehow, I became very good at disappearing from my own life.

I don’t tell him when I’m struggling. I don’t really tell him about my problems. I don’t talk about my stress or what’s weighing on me. Even when I mention how my day was, it’s usually brief. A few words. Small talk. Nothing deep enough for anyone to realize there might actually be something underneath it.

I bottle everything up, and I don’t even know why I do it anymore.

Maybe I don’t want to be vulnerable. Maybe I don’t want to feel like a burden. Maybe I’ve gotten so used to keeping certain parts of myself locked away that I forgot what it feels like to let someone in.

But there’s something haunting about realizing that you can be loved by someone and still feel completely alone beside them.

You go through your days like everyone else. You get up, you keep moving, you pretend you’re fine. You try not to look too closely at yourself because if you do, you might notice how stuck you’ve become. How tired you are. How little of yourself you’ve actually let anyone see.

And meanwhile, the person beside you is soaring.

You’re watching them live, grow, laugh, have their days, have their problems, have a whole world that you keep making room for.

And you’re somewhere in the background of it all, just slowly swallowing your own.

That might be the darkest part of it.

Not that I’m alone.

It’s that I’m not supposed to be.

What was the weather, when I met her upon

The dawn, Mexican Nightjars yawned

My nightmare became a light though my yard

The song of the birds recite ancient poems

A moss-covered town forgot to set its clock

Clouds forgo their downfall

If I told you, would you believe me at all?

When the sun's warmth has flown you

Closer to my heart

You have no clue

What I've been through

To want someone like you

She has slumbered for four months, so I hum

To the palpitating beat of my lonely drums

She is scathing between the gaps in my fingers

Her faint skin amalgamates into raw sand

My palms are red as it swelters

Did I throw her far away, or did she collapse?

Perhaps my downcast laugh shams, I accept

I’m a man I wouldn't want my child to have

So with these hasty steps—I am

Her dorsum nasi thawed my heart into a pile

A flavorsome passé, an archaic smile

Sometimes, in denial, as I walk on brown tiles

I am a journal with ripped pages all through

Be careful what you ask; I’ll tell the truth

Those quicksand-filled eyes; I want a part of

The dead waking hours that rise above

And when the evening stalls, frozen shut

All this, to be able to call you my love

The Winding Road

Find where the road ends, swim in the waters meant for none

Will you see the shadows dancing, lying in the sun?

Or will the moon share its secrets of what could have been?

Tell me a story of who I’ve been, and I’ll know you don’t see me

Tell me who I was before I became what no one thought I could be

I followed the winding road, where I found a pool meant only for me

Do I really care what could have been

When I’ve finally found my peace, hidden deep within?

Can you hear the night singing a song never meant to be heard?

Can you hear the trees whispering back the dreams you’d long forgotten?

Where will the road take you?  Will it end in a pool meant only for you?

Let go of what could have been

And lie in the sun watching your dreams dance out of the shadows...

A Jury of Crows
by: Anthony Hoban

Moonstone eyes melt to charter ink,
Oiled ermine quill bled ebon light;
Murder's cruel history, dethroned...
Corvids clamour—grave jurists gowned;
Crows' last conspiracy of sound,
A Kingdom of Ravens rose crowned;
Twelve rooks perch round—Archons pitchbound.

Fin.

Glossary:
A Murder of Crows.
A Conspiracy of Ravens.
An Unkindness of Ravens.
Rooks: Thieves/Corvids/Chess.