Oakley Hall

A beauty once felt and

shared

began to storm and

its eyes shut

to all but the

mirror mirror

in the bottom of

one and one-half ounces of 

distilled, 

smoked oak with

an amber haze.

Once genius-

falling fast

falling faster

questioning resolve,

questioning relevance,

questioning mortality.

Splitting, then

split.

Unseen were the villains-

once at the dark corners of

creativity; 

haunting in every blink,

waiting behind bloody eyelids -

now they dance in the dripping rays

of over-saturated days.

Death of a force

unlike nature.

A waste.

The tempest worsens and

the eye eclipses the tornado;

the calm

traps-

ensnaring

the wind

the rain

and the lightening within 

a grey prison.

By and by,

the world grows tired and 

deaf to the false promise

of windfall,

then 

by ordinary means

by no great struggle other than

the simple will to live-

to find relevance once more,

the mirror broke

and the beauty now rages stronger,

breeding hope.

It will outlast-

It will endure.

It will share itself with the world

again.