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Follow the Doei saw a doe one morningthere outside my windowsmiling at mebeckoning me to follow herand my eyes trailed her every movefor a whilemesmerized by her quiet graceand silent beautybut the minutes were ticking bycalling me away from the windowdragging me with them back into the rat raceand so I forgot about her.Until the next morning.She was there, still silentstill beautifulsinging a soul-song so preciousthat I listened a little longer this time...but I never did follow herdeep through her forest to learn her wayshear her speak in the tongue she was givenand teach her to sing in mineI simply stood at my window each morninglong enough for her to make me smileThen one day the doe wasn't there.Goodbye, Mari. I wish I would have followed.
Silver-Painted Dreamnothing has really sunk ini need to ask you whyso my fingers are dialing your number againall but the last numberbecause no one is home at your housei know before i call.You moved out, moved onto what I have no clueYou didn't even knowwhat you were asking forbut you believed it was worth the ride.you'd have told me you were leavingbut you didn't know.you were just chasing a speeding dreamwilling to go where it took youand unknowing of the road it would take.my tears mix with the venom of angerit's selfish, maybebut I want to slap youhit you with the force of my lossand then save you from your own stupidity.i feel as though i should have listenedto the hints of goodbyethat fell from your wordsin excited tonesand shone in the silver paint of your chosen dreams.now all that's left of us is what I hold now.a few pictures I've savedsmiling faces, cheeks pressed togetherand a small newspaper clipping.They said you were going 128 miles an hour.
unfinished - for tonyhow long were you mine?long enough for me to take a happy breathbut not long enough for me to exhale itit came out as a sighas I closed my eyes against your cheekand pressed trembling fingersagainst the window of a taxiI knew when I whispered the goodbyewhen you brushed the tears from my cheeksand smiled that wayI would never see you again.I knew.but I loved you.more than even i knewuntil tonight when I heard youon a crackly phone lineand you chuckled when i saidyour voice hadn't changed at alland your sentences are short, unfinishedjust as they always were.just as we were.I always wondered where you wereand if fate had smiled upon your lifethe way you smiled upon mine.I still have your picture.
winter sandsnowflakes fall like starlightand land without a whisperstreetlights illuminate the silencegiving it a voice only the listening can hearyour soft conversation is almost as deepas the footprints we're making in the knee-high snowI almost don't notice the wind that snakes around ussliding icy fingers down my cheekstop to take a breath and take it inthe fresh air that you aresnowballs are made and we pretend to throw themand then I pretend to throw mine awayonly to hurl it at you, laughing.the sound dies on my lipsas they are covered with your ownand your warmth breathes into my lungsspreading like a smile through a crowdI am stranded on this beach with youthis shore of winter sandand I'm building a castlewith the kisses that lay around mefragile as the breeze that blows themto fall upon my rosy cheeksand slidedownmeltingintohappytears.
Eirenikosthoughts swirl around my head in the color of my lifetinted through the prism of my tearsrefracted into shades of emotionthat no crayon box has ever heldno paintbrush has ever carried to canvasand no artist could ever fathom.then your words fall like raindropslike mercurysilver sliding into mirrorstoo intense to touchbut too intriguing not to watchas they dance on the surface of my mindtelling a story for my heartweaving a tapestry of songeach single stringed noteeach colored threadeach perfect stepshimmering, spherelikei fall into your wordslike a leaf, sailingdown to meet the water.like a fairytale craftfloating to the seawhere each single wordeach dropletbecomes absorbedI listen.take it all insipping from your cup of wordsand letting them warm me.
Star-Crossedsome nights are so long they stretch into lifetimes.when each twinkling star has suddenly become another moment spent herewasted...alone.it is not the stars themselves that inspire loneliness.it is the spaces between them.from here they are so small we can cover them with a thumbnail,but in reality they are distances even light can barely crawl across before dying.so it is with usas we all crawl across this distance,for we know of the spaceand we fear it for what it is...but we only think of the lightthere....beckoning us to come.always.yet that very light itself may be from stars gone coldbefore they could be reached,of loves unrequited, now dust.still we reachdelirious with the belief that its existence is true and purelost in the carousel of wanting and hoping and simply needingblind to all but the end of our self-induced quest......blind.and yet our eyes are opened for the first timefor the questing can create the lightjust as the question may create an an
A True PoemTalent is not always found in a rhymeor a cleverly crafted phrasea few fancy words or tired clichesor the latest writing crazeSometimes a poem doesn't need to bea sonnet, epic, or haikuas long its meaning touches your souland sings its song to youVisions aren't always structured and neatwith perfect meter and tonesometimes they come in a flurry of thoughtand the meaning is yours aloneA heart will sing in the language it knowseven if no one else knows the wordsthe notes are unmistakablemelodies we all have heardShakespeare's lyrics and Homer's taleswhile thought of as perfect artcan never compare with this unspoken truth:A true poem is the beat of a heart.
ConfessionHe asked.So she had told him. Against all her better judgment. She knew better. She had always known better. Some things are better left unsaid, untouched. Especially in her case.But he sounded as if he wanted to hear it. Not just because he was was curious; no, there was concern there as his gold-flecked eyes bore into her soul, seeking the answers and yet tiptoeing around the pain they were buried in. Her fingers trembled as she shook out her fourth(tenth?) cigarette of the evening. Her eyes lifted to his as she lit the end, her gaze wavering like the match's flame as she threw it into the ashtray. Their conversation was silent, unspoken, unhurried; as if each of them needed to hear something from the other but couldn't ask for it."So." The word was almost a sigh from his lips, filled with uncertainty and even maybe (could she sense that?) a little fear. The revulsion was there too. It was always there. SHe closed her eyes, pushing away the knowing: that nagging little