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
I Hope She KnowsI hope she sees the perfect wayyour eyes sparkle in the lightthe way your smile sends the dark awayand makes everything alrightI wonder if she feels the thingsI feel when you look at meif she knows the same weaknessesthat I do when you're close to meI wonder if she knows the friend she hasdeep within your souland does she sense the fire you havethat you keep under control?I hope she hears the things you saywhen she's not there by your sideyour love for her - absolute, completemakes me sad somehow insideI hope she sees the prize she hashow far for her you'd goand as much as I'd love for you to love me...I hope somehow she knows.
The River and the BoatYour boat has been sandedWithin an inch of its lifeTo fix all the splintersFrom your river's storm and strifeThe rapids came before youBut even now the water churnsPushing, pulling, purgingAs lava below her burnsShe'd never try to ground youOr throw you from your craftBut while she tries to forge aheadShe sways you fro and aft.If only for a moment nowYou think you'll never liveAs her waters threaten to drown youIn her consuming fears withinYet every storm has a start and an endAnd for her, it's just that wayShe'll rage and swell beyond her shoresBut find her ground againAnd sliding past the sandbarsWhere you thought perhaps you'd restShe swirls around your trailing handsAnd your fingers are caressed.So sail me as you always couldFor my promise to you runs ever deepThe end of this journey is worth every stormJust know that your soul I will keep.
Four-Year-Old Snowhis little face is pressed against the windoweyes wide in innocent wonderas snowflakes dance in twinkling shoesto the music of the wind's orchestraand christmas lights blink in silent accompanimentthe stars are lost somewheretoo busy finding their own way through the stormto hang there and listen for wishesfrom the people whose cars are stuckthe night is silentas we brew our cocoasnuggling under blanketsand reading little boy bookscomplaining good-naturedlyabout the shoveling to come in the morningSleepy time nowtuck in under big blanketswith stuffed animalsplaying children's music to fall asleep tocan we play in the snow tomorrow?Of course, darling.Of course.
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