Her Hurricane Winds

Raindrops trickle down
my face and into my eyes,
making it look as if I've  
been crying.
Weeping for the beauty
of she who stands in front of me.

She holds this candle of lightning still
and watches the jagged ambers quiver
against her frosted windows.
She breathes in
like a hurricane
trying to sweep away
her wings of steel.

The world around me
stops revolving for
just a moment,
gravity lifts it's
oppressive arm
from my shoulders,
my body flies like
my spirit,
clouds whirl,
my head spins,
and my pulse quickens.

I break through the storm
like a sheet of glass ,
as the tears reside
on her soft cheeks.
I descend like a curl of silk
upon her faded chestnut lips
and kiss the cuts of pain away.

She is my figure cut
from rose marble
half hiding in the shadows.
Not sure if she
wants to show her
true self,
but I see her
in her full glory.
She envelopes the world
around her in the delicacies
of lace and silk.
She has taken my breath,
and now I would
give her
my world.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved 

If you could see me

you’d see the loving
that infuses my soul
the warmth of invisible arms
like a wool blanket wrapped tight
on a frozen Arctic tundra

you’d see the tears
that spill from my eyes
like dewdrops falling
from the fading datura at sunrise

you’d see the happiness
that travels through my smile
enveloping all who choose to see
like a child laughing
at fireworks in the Heavens

you’d see the fragility
that lies beneath
the facade of confidence
that drapes like a raw silk throw
upon an antique chaise

you’d feel the seduction
that emanates from my body
graceful movements in the moonlight
like a white tiger
hunting in the jungles of Bangladesh

you’d see the scars
that map my faith
the remnants of false promises
like the riot of pattern
woven in an Aubusson rug

you’d see what I wanted
the helplessness, or intrigue
anger, or even forgiveness
like a sculpture of marble
Michelangelo could only predict

you’d see the longing
that tears my thoughts
shredding ideas to ribbons
like prayer flags
billowing on a Tibetan slope

if you could only see me in all my glory
you’d see me as I want to be seen.

This piece is a collaboration with an author named Doreen.

A Trip Through Oz

Though the yellow brick road is but a memory,
and the silky green landscape is left behind,
we stroll through the garden of thoughts
caught in the bliss of momentary solitude.

She has been an indelible memory,
an addiction of sorts,
this game she plays is enticing
and I've been caught in a web
so strong I don’t want to escape.

Lost souls in the midnight charcoal,
she was broken and mended
leaving me to wonder of her frailty
in the open wailing world beyond.

A trip it has been, so far,
with her on my arm
to guide my way.

No destination
No preconceptions
No walls

Oz has opened it’s doors
and is calling my name.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

Ice Kissed

The crystal palace has been shattered
in the cold lands beyond
sight and hearing

A sun shines in the cloudy climes
where only darkness once
enshrouded

Like a beacon she shines
with frost flecked
cheeks

Ice white and blue emanate from
a soul so warming it seems
cold to the touch

Left Ice Kissed in the wilderness…
Holding purity in my hands…
Left wonting for one more touch…

She is Ice
and
She has melted me.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved

E.d.i.c.a

Impress me deary…
You walked all this way and
decided that step you took
needed to be revoked

Was it a chill in the air?
Was it the look on my face?
Maybe my icy glare,
or words cyanide laced?

Depress me deary…
you lashed your tongue
about like a whip
and slapped my heart

Was it the sullen look in my eyes?
Was it the tremble in my voice?
Maybe the subtle lies,
or did you forget that choice?

Compress me deary…
You put me in this vice squeezing
my essence into something packaged,
blinding me in my complacency

Was it my laughter?
Was it my smile?
Maybe you’re an actor,
or just rotted with guile?

Express me deary…
The emotion has broken through
and you wish that it held
even a notion of love.

Express the depression again…
Impress the compression…

again.

© Justin Frieberg, All rights reserved