faery gold

we all go into the forest of life to seek our deaths

some days we drown in flowers,

surfeit on sugared shingles.

arrayed in barbed jewels we stab our own hearts

for something red to drink

we scrabble with broken nails in the dirt,

digging for our souls

or planting magic beans

hiding our treasures for others to find,

these are the exile's choices.

life pays us in kind with faery gold,

we are left with pockets full of leaves.

we go girdled in longing that chokes,

and sit spinning bloodied straw

clawed up from the floor

of this place we call living,

both torture chamber and birthing room.

the difference is merely

what comes out of it---

death or life, both pain-borne---

the difference is how we exit:

clutching softness or spite.

i want to go with my hands full of light

i want to be emptied of all but love.