empty spillings

charcoal master,
         you spin such exuberant tales,
         yet so half-hearted is your voice
         which colors them.


            fire breather,
                     you must cease this listless dreaming.
                     red may seem cunning, but
                     in the case of fire,
                     it is far less passionate than blue.


      treasure hunter,
               understand that x does not always mark the spot.
               and stop drawing your own x's, your skin's sullied enough.


  september eyes,
            it's time to let that summer wither, time to
            fashion a new summer that can be recycled.


                                     broken boy,
                                             you are not broken after all;
                                                          your brain just thinks you are.  
                                             let your heart realize it is awake and
                                                                        get on with your winter.