Weatherman

If the sun in the sky
should set the past in
clouds that brim the morning;
Turbulent in the middle of yesterday
and usually gone by afternoon.....
Then the sky was blue
as the color of your eyes
tangible in my refinement.
Stay strick.
It's always as unpredictable as the weather.

Come day, go day
as there seems to be nothing new,
but it's a whistle in the air that blew
quite loudly enough
to draw all the foggy dew;
trembling in steamy tea leaves
and those who
evidently
know you.
Can you predict the future?
No.
But trust as those bright horizons will ensue
as a bolt of lightning
or hurried engagements brought forth who
will celebrate your new day
and said they will see you through.
Trust is a prediction.
I spend much time betting it all
on everything uncertain.

My dear weatherman,
I said it's been storming
and you replied with half of a forecast.
I am clearly waiting to step outside
to hear engaging silence,
and a warm breeze to wrap my head around.
I'd settle just for an overcast
 so I can be the one
who
dared to stand against
 a force of nature...
 Be sure to tell me if there seems to be a storm up ahead.
Take cover and shield me when I can't get out of my head,
and we will be fine.
Just never,
and I mean ever
lie about weather.

The Sleepy and Hollow

I had a hope once.
A thought that kept returning
long after I left a haunted town.
They say it's a paranormal wrath.
A curse.
A karmic reason why these spirits stick around.
They cannot see the light,
and they do not know that they are dead.

I am the Sleepy Hollow;
without a head
this dream doesn't think.
It's all heart
riding without direction,
as long as I am far away from you.
This heart has led me astray
in a dream that I knew would never last.
We're just stories written before I sleep.

That apparition in my mind
was one I never justified.
I failed to say what needed to be said.
You see,
I had a hope once,
but I killed that thought many times.
Now I believe in ghosts,
because I am one.

Alone I ride
faster, wiser, with awakened heart.
I ride past vampires with crooked teeth
for I am steel.
The werewolves howl,
for my love runs much wilder than them.

Some days I still long for the sleepy and hollow.
The lazy drunks that seemed to not have anything beating in their chests.
The thoughtless whims of the headless stumbling,
speaking of some fictitious folklore.
Especially the tales where they said they were in love.