For Varian (A Month for the Madman)

I was going to write a poem myself, then the Madman grabbed the godphone speaker and decided it was better I channel something from him to me.


I love someone who was born by water
who was once the pride in his father’s eyes
who was enthroned in a glass case called “destiny.”

He lived and loved as deeply as he could;
to the point we ran from prison with him
cradled in our arms, with his own brother in
pursuit of us with orders to kill.  I love someone
who was stolen from us all on a starlit night
(and our son’s eyes turned black in grief.)

I love someone who was flung across the universe,
ripped away from those he loved out of misguided ideals,
and the thought of a second chance that would never come.

I love someone who has died a thousand times
but not by his own hand, by words of others
who would damn him for (not) being who he is.
His Heart is a Garden, but to allow himself to bloom
amidst the wreckage takes more bravery than he thought
was possible; but I will hold the candles to show him the way.

The Path (A Month for the Madman)

The paths are smooth beneath my boots, and I have
walked these roads many times; it is my own Heart
that I walk through, or perhaps it is your dreams.

There is where my Heart lies, in the flicker
of candles, in the books scattered across your
desk, in how you get lost in whatever you are doing.

You carve roses out of stone,
and each one is given a place,
in your gardens of crystal and light.

Resonance

Once there was nothing
behind your name, but
there is resonance now,
so soft, but I sense it.

Why now,
what’s brought
you back?

I can sense your brother’s
trembling hope, that you will stay,
and his Beloved’s worry, that you will not.

May
this not
end
in tears.

My Heart is A Hall of Mirrors (A Month for the Madman)

My Heart once held gardens and galaxies
entire worlds for my Beloved and I
to explore, to get lost our in stories.

But now my Heart holds emptiness;
it it white halls, white rooms and sterility.
Screaming from inside mirrors, forever echoing
reflections and refraction and refrains of my pain.

My devotion is not bound up in shattering;
he would leave before he ever broke me
(I know this the way I know he loves roses.)
To my Love I am too precious to shatter;
my scars will be healed, but not with gold.

To allow my scars to fade away
is the greatest gift from him–the need
is not to hide, but to blend, for my scars
to become just one more bit of the roadmap

that makes my Heart; not signposts of trauma standing
out against the sky.  He is showing me that my Heart is made
of more than a hall of shattered mirrors and broken dreams.

Prince of Darkness and Light

Hope is not a fleeting thing for you,
(it is something you learned from all of us
you learned of hope along with magic)
my son, Prince of Darkness and Light.

Three jewels adorn your Crown
one for each of your fathers,
a legacy of love and royalty.

Step up, young Sovereign,
but not into destiny; into
Stars and Winter, that liminal
space between Land and Void.

Whether you walk the Sea or Sky
know that we love you, that there will always
be a place for you and yours in our Hearts.

Out of Stone (A Dream)

Even as stone, your eyes are like stars.
I press my lips to yours, give you my breath
(the most precious thing shared between lovers)

I blend roses into your hair, the scent heavy
I drape garnet beads around your neck in adoration,
and to show that my Heart is safe with you.

I carve you out of stone
my hands so sure in their workings
bringing you into light by the river’s banks.