by Sandra Beckmeier

Henry was a penniless soldier
with a strong backbone and a warm heart
he played with chariots and wandered
through the lives of many maidens
always wishing for more than he held for himself
he wished for guns and bruises
the creator of many illusions
he shattered minds and elevated dreams
he tore wages and died a thousand lives
for one
he built a fairytale
and threw the bones to a beast
He knew the story of Bluebeard
but not from the inside out
he wasn't evil
or perfect
he was highlighted by God, and his cult of tradition
and spent all his hunger
for spirit
but the kitchen is closed.

A field I dream for Henry
a dead soul visited my dream
I hope to find Henry in heaven
where he can ride for destiny

I pick the pieces of my disaster
and hope for a better way, and
my dreams are coming along
like a rush of wind through twilight mist
and not fasting in shame
they are darker than "night vision"
soft as sacred clouds
            the first meaning
and no one can take them away.