Kelly Vinal

Deep within the chasm,
Lives the man without a name -
He’s come to represent
The secrets hidden in -
...

The breath of dead man winter’s
Swirling vapors of the frozen -
Forging dendrites in the splinters,
Bringing rains, the rivers run.
...

When I see the world, for you
When you became the world to me
A rainbow arched beyond the storms
To green pastures of destiny
...

Stand silent, and you’ll sense the ghosts
Of Fountains Abbey
White Monks in raw wool habits
Wafting through your soul
...

Sing we for the finest times,
For memories of tree-lined hills –
O’er fields lay strewn of flowers gold,
Ensconced, we are composed.
...

Walk, fire, unimaginative wretch -
Draw to me the daydream
Scene. Dreaming whilst awake,
Of palm tree trails and fields
...

Move away - from me, the form
Is parabolic in isolation, I’ll vet
The consequence and despair, despair
Will serve my hunger –
...

Everybody was
Beyond the slight of life
Lost upon enchanted places
Illuminating night –
...

You sang a song of eternal sanctum
Beneath a sliver moon of hope renewed
I discerned your mother’s voice, as it passed
Like an Olympic torch, to your daughters,
...

A tired man rests at the foot of his grave
To watch as the stone tracks the dying sun’s rays
And his back is arched and his tongue is dried as he shouts up to the sky
...

Turn another blinded eye, oblivious
To cattail meadows strewn sea-to-sea -
Each stalk, brazed by arctic incursions
And baked by the sun in May.
...

In small circles, I feel no pain
The magic flows, imbues my brain
Turns my focus to the sky
I
...

Onward to the best not spoken,
When every vestige of pride becomes a prayer –
And the sadness of God is manifested
In the emancipation of collective doubt.
...

Our world is rife, rife
With plague, deceit
And defeat
...

Wounded swan, still beautiful –
Spreads wings she feels
Are broken –
Determined still to climb again
...

Liver little
Bile of ages run
Acid of humanity
Shudder in the morning sun
...

Your life seems sudden
And less familiar –
Sometimes bigger,
Sometimes louder than
...

The beauty of a lonely willow
As summer shadows pass
To equinox
Leaves, low and delicate,
...

There is something left
In your eyes, they do not lie
I am my. My is something subjugate
To the lower, low me, below
...

It isn’t but to pass, the waning hour
Of desire and that opportunity nearly squandered -
The soul’s calloused scars of never-ending promise,
Denied in the vitriolic stream of unrelenting time.
...