Unworn

Behind the out-worn leather seats,
Disrobed by time's crusty hands,
She weeps in a misty corner;
Silently, intimately, like a winter moon.
Her blackened tears
Are like a death
That weeps for its death.

Walking through the shining wall
Erected by the tired wind,
In haste, purpose bewildered,
She wears herself
Like clothes she doesn't own.

The immaculate window
That offers her its silhouettes
Heats itself with passion
Just to keep the cold away.

Oh, she understands.

A princess she would never be:
She speaks like a peasant,
For she is spoken to by peasants.
All she knows, she adopts as dreams.

What a reptilian truth.

Shells as pink as mornings
Cease to be shells
When their shell is cast aside,
For they have become what holds them.

Winter never finds her heart in summer.

A robin leaves behind the white leaves,
And flies, in calmness to you.
Hold him in your hands like a manger,
His burning feathers, shall give you your first desire.

Heaven is heaven not because it is not hell.