Sunday, December 11, 2011

Who Do They Represent

Who are these cows who lick the salt of man
and wander carefree fields, batting lashes
chewing on their cuds - mindless of the trees.


Who are these tall oaks with shattered limbs
parched of thirst, tightly wrapped in rings
they run society on falsely planted whims.


Who are these herdsmen, dressed in guilt
with fat minds, cloaks and bloated hats.


Who do they represent?

But you and you and you and you and even him
or her and no doubt them.


But in truth, not her or you or them -
.... and sure as hell, not me.


To Feed The Fragments - Of Your Soul

I feel her hands, which strip my skin
unabashedly they slash at me
to peel away her thoughtlessness
looking for the profit in a pound of flesh.


What confessions can I make
while trapped in the quiet of this storm
as the serpent slithers, wrapping me in coils
~~~~ smiling… with those razor teeth
a magician - trying to reshape, not reform.


But I am only me - one single rooted soul
you can bite the apple
but you can't use me…..
to feed the fragments - of your soul.


Friday, December 9, 2011

I Understand

I understand your tears
when drenched …
in sorrows rain.


I understand the deepness
of the furrowed mind
when tilled….   
and the clank of thoughts
when struck against the pain.


I understand your shallow breaths
when I hear the whispered beats.


I understand your cry
when lungs collapse
drawn-in by the ache.


I understand ….
when you don’t understand
yourself.


But you can understand... this -
a soft heart with a shoulder
to rest your worries
and two strong hands
to caress away…..
your pain.


Is an understanding friend
regardless
of the rain.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

UNSPOKEN WORDS

Words, which drift through cosmos
these unreserved utters
immeasurably extended -
in our time…. and space.


But tongueless,
are these indiscernible notes
implied - and misunderstood
buoyant ~~~~ on the surface
suspended - jagged in our throats.


Unspoken words
unpronounced, inexpressible
unvoiced - turned to liquid
in the quiet solitude
uncomfortable - as each letter
and our voice…… swallowed -
melts away.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

You Can Paint Me

When you drape your hands
across the canvas of my skin
can you feel the bristling -
of the brush?


Will you sense the tingling…
the passion of the paint?


Can you see the vision -
that you'll create?


Each stroke….you'll weave
like coloured fingers of thread
entwined in the tapestry of me.


You can paint me in the dark
until the renaissance of dawn
you’re a master of your skills
and I a sculpture…..
of your artistic will.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

No More Day

There is no more day
when minutes turn to hours
and hours fade away
when cascading stars
fall at night……


So close my eyes
to leave it …. all behind
to darken skies
of paradise or parasites,
which eat away.


Then I slip away
looking for a place to hide
on a long road home
to find the relevance of time

Saturday, December 3, 2011

Silence of the Mind

Such cramp spaces
these minds feel
circles, which never end
and cracks in doors
that only peer within.


I touch these walls,
to see if they will bend
apply emotions,
with tethered ends
a balance beam -
hoping for the weight of wind.


To hear the meditation
in the subtly, which chime……..
a peace -  
in the silence of the mind.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Did You

Did you shed a tear
on this windy day
so it would float to me?


Did you caress the sky
with powder blue
so I would look at you?


Did you guide my will
to your salt of earth
so I could taste your pleasures?


Did you hold me
with your penetrating eyes
so I would never look away?


Did you know that I believe in you
more than you believe in me?


Did you?

Some Mirco Poems

He withers in the storm

like a leaf on a narrow limb
holding dearly…. to her
he emotionally swings.


She cups him, in her gentle hands
just underneath his cheeks
eye to eye….she whispers
you’re a precious leaf - to me.



When wolves howl

what choice does he have
- but to join in
for he is only a man… and she
is disguised as a sheep.

What if the sky turned grey
what then… would you see
if the sun hid behind the stars
and the moon overshadowed me -
would flowers wither
and my beating heart….
fade away.

A connection is the hand

that reaches out.
A calm touch -
to caress the mind.
The knowledge of life -
in a dark sky.
A shining light - of a friend.

Forever Longed

The first giggled kiss
where eyes close…
and our hearts pound.


Where excited hands
and fingertips
caress the sweetness -
of her velvet lips.


Hold my neck
hands through hair
a vision of beauty
the reality…..
we shared.


That one sweet kiss
in loving arms -
held in memory
and
forever longed.

Dreams

Have you ever dreamed of life
far beyond the stars?


The glory of the mystery
, which flashes by.


A cornered field
to rest your eyes.


Or a summers night
with tussled sheets.


Childhood memories….
and whispers.


And passing cars
on a silent street.


That’s what dreams…
are for.

Beating Drum

One-hundred feet
trampled by….
to the aches
of the beating drum.


Their rhythm
called the souls
, which feel
the stoic virtue
and the thunder -
of the guns.


Fold the flags
dry the tears -
then stand at ease…


Hoist your drinks to them.

These boys, these men
the lads -
a hand upon my chest
I feel you there -


and the ache
of the beating….. drum.

Turned To Kiss

He reaches-round
to caress her beating breast
tender is the moment shared
when pressed against….
the warmth of life.


Dizzy is the feeling felt
to spinning love… and
her expelled breath -
when she turned to kiss.


Wrapped in arms
they hold on tight
never letting go.


Her palm strokes….
down his cheek to neck
weak of knees, he shutters
when she speaks
without a word -
spoken.

Exposed

Open nerves
these raw emotions
tangled
and now exposed.


He had no shelter
no means to hide
stripped of all his layers…
his skin---- peeled away.


Now on display
he descended down
beneath the crust of air
his heart congealed
within the mess
of unconcealed despair.


While those who watch
- dissect him
piece by little piece
these exhibitionists
revealed
they see themselves -
exposed.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

She is

She is the substance
, which restores.


The elixir -
prolonging life.


She is the circle
the embodiment
that completes my half.


She is tangible!

She is the breath
my lungs hunger for.


She is the beat of my heart.

She is -
the very core
that sustains me.


She is -

Loved 

Sunday, November 27, 2011

A Blank Page

The blank page stares at him -
not he at it!


These raw fibers - exposed to life.

Filaments of nerves___ flinching
floating - tender… to touch.


An emotional clitoris
uncovered….


Hot is the blood, which runs beneath
shockingly cold - fingers.


Draw me in - infuse me
light my eyes, so I can see
tangle me in ~~~ in you
make me scream… till tears run.


Stain my pages
fold me - tear me
read me.


Hold me!

Fill me

with you….

Thursday, November 10, 2011

She Understood

In the depth of his bones
she is the strength
which is his character
for he stands for her
when he cannot stand alone.


When he falters….
she reaches out
she is the marrow
which supports him.


She is the light
which moves his shadows
the angel…who opens the gates.


She is the heavens
the straight line
when his heart beats in hell
she understands his twisted thoughts
she understands his mind.


And when he dies
a new child will be born
so there's no reason for tears
no pain to shed
he's going home
knowing..that she understood

- him.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Two Hands Make The Time

She makes me vulnerable
an unfamiliar feeling
which, I stumble through.


I reach for her, but nothings there
a disillusioned body
a void - - - of cold despair.


All I wanted, was direction
but I recognize her signs
and none - lead to me
so I'm left walking by myself
which she doesn't see.


What more can I do
but watch ------- and wait for you
as emotions. . . . . tick away
a nanosecond , or has an hour past
I'm left to dwell.


A sweeping hand---------------
which can change a life
but only if she understands
that two hands, make the time.

Monday, November 7, 2011

The Possibilities of Dreams

I only wanted to believe
in the possibilities of dreams
those magic moments
when everything seems…
to be unbelievably - true.


Wrapping arms around me
she felt my beating heart
- it was then that I knew
when her heart beats…..
deep within her breast
that the possibilities of dreams
- come true
and that love… exist.

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Written For Tomorrow

Who am I to count the cost
of all those loves I've lost.

Each broken pen and shattered page
of the poet, who pours a life
then drinks the pain
while displaced upon the stage.


He flails about and spits his ink
into a spittoon filled with paper
then cries his sorrow
as each word seeps….into the cracks
left dripping from the core…
- of his marrow.


Who am I to count the cost
of all those loves I've lost.

Who am I to count the cost
when no lost loves
have been written for tomorrow.

Friday, November 4, 2011

On This Side Of My Head.

I was never close enough before
its just as well, regardless of what you said
I knew you'd hurt me
that’s the way it is, on this side of my head.


All these blue skies, which disappear
and the cloudy days ahead
have you ever seen a storm
just before the rain begins.


Have you ever kissed a stranger
wishing you'd remember them
have you ever hugged the wind
before the silence began
do you know what it's like
on this side of my head.


Sometimes I forget my name
other times I forget you and I are the same
just don’t wake me up, when you walk out my door
close the curtains, then close my mind.


Have you ever seen a storm
just before the rain begins
I just can't do it anymore
I knew you'd hurt me.


that’s the way it is, on this side of my head.
That’s just the way it is, on this side of my head.
Can I do it on my own anymore
I don’t remember what you said
but that’s just the way it is, on this side of my head.
On this side of my head.
No I don’t want to be alone anymore
or watch the storms come in
on this side of my head
So can you take me, just the way I am
knowing there's two sides to everyone.
That’s just the way it is, on this side of my head.

Is Love You

He leaned in for a kiss
…but he missed
raw feelings
when it comes to loving you.


Tell me if the stars are true
when the moon fades away
is heaven a real place
you once told that you knew.


He tried to touch her hand
…but she moved away
the hardest thing to do - is loving you
are you just another girl
all I want to do…. is love you.


Have you ever rode a carousel
or watched the horses gallop by
have you ever seen the waves
when the sailors float away.


He leaned in for a kiss
…but he missed
raw feelings
when it comes to loving you.


Tell me if the stars are true
when the moon fades away
is heaven a real place
you once told that you knew


you once told that you knew.

All I know, is the hardest thing to do - is loving you
are you just another girl
all I want to do…. is love you.


Is love you
is love you


all I want to do…. is love you.

Who am I

I hoped for a dream
so I could peel back the seams  
of a life on the other side.


I flipped channels
on a broken TV mind
how could I describe
what I couldn't find.


I never had a clue - about you
or you I.


I couldn't find my way
all the signs were faded
and my dreams just lead the other way.


I chased you….
how could I give up
when each page, made more sense - to me.


I must be crazy
just a fellow in the dark
without any kind…. of sensibility
only these feelings for you.


I desperately fight
breathing midnight candles
to light a darkened moon
so I can harvest these emotions
which continue to grow.


I just know….
I just know, that dreams come true
because without you….
who am I

Monday, October 31, 2011

I Took A Picture

This is what it is - whatever that may be…which I just don't know!
=====================================================
I took a picture
when I seen you standing there
this beauty, my angel
you're just a girl with dark hair.
A long line, while we stood in the rain
I had nothing to lose
what more could I gain
so I searched the rooftops
for a steeple to climb
but all I found were the shadows
of Rembrandts remains.
I took a picture
so close to my heart
a fading memory, for the day we depart
when the light around the corner
began to bend and a man in a grey coat
jumped the line, while a wife and two
children stood by.
When I look back
and up the secret annex of stairs
there were two girls standing there
and only one was 15.
I tried to take a picture
but I wasn’t allowed anymore
what else could I do
but close the doors to my eyes
so I could remember you.
I took a picture
when I seen you standing there
this beauty, my angel
a girl with dark hair.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

What He Had Lost

The following poem is four tweets, expanded and tossed together.
=================================
Two wounded souls
on battles broken fields of hearts
- he bends to his sorrows end
and bleeds mercy, as she departs.

Oh such darkness when it comes
surrounds his shivers in the cold of blight
that he cries when his angels gone
for who will take him home… to you
when you're gone, to bury sorrows mourn.

But in the light of her reflective day
she returns to peel away - troubled thoughts
revealing life, beneath his scars of bark
to find a man she knew was there….
who's been too afraid to move.

So she placed a hand upon his heart
and held him to her ground
when removed, it was then that he had found
- what he had lost.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Does It Matter Anymore

If I'm alone with you
I'm at home with you
when you knock on my door
it's the only sound I need
I don’t need to hear any more.


But when you fade away
it's like the breeze on a windy day
I'm the only one who notices
and my heart just fly's the other way.


Does it matter anymore
when you forget that I'm here
sitting just behind the door
regardless of the miles, or the days
who remembers what it feels like
I do -
it's like a heavy heart of weight.


Everywhere I ride, I see you on a train
with all these broken tracks
on a trail that I can't find
but does it matter anymore.


Regardless of what you never say
I read between the lines
this dyslexia of thoughts
and convenience of your mind
words I want to hear
but never find.


Does it matter anymore
…yes
it still matters - to me.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

She Pulls Me

She pulls me like a tower rope
at the top of each hour gone by
each word spoken, claps a tone
then fades away - never says hello
or waves a kiss goodbye.


In my second life, I'll have an inner light
now….its two shades darker then the night.


I want a rose, without fickle thorns
no blood dripping in the morning rains
or burning pain, which sears my eyes
all scars left behind.


Coiled, deep inside - no longer will I go
what more could I give-up
when there's nothings left to hide
take what I have, or take nothing at all
take my loneliness - call me your fool
my loves yours, if you only knew - what to do.


No risks are free and no life is easy  
when the sky falls, that’s just the way it is
but you can always walk away
travel down that empty road and let your future go.


But I'm ready, if you pull me like a tower rope
let me hear your truth
just give me a chance and you'll be mine
back when time was young and our love grew
make me love you again, so I can hear the fading chimes
then forget the rope and just pull me to you.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Drifting Away

She caught me on the tide
as I was drifting away
she was the undertow
who pulled at my will
while I tried to run
never from her
but from me every day.


Legs in the water
heart in the sand
struggling to breathe
until she held my hand
a safe haven
between the deep bay
and her promised land.


She moves me
gentle lapping
swaying my soul
until I was dislodged
uncurled were my toes.


Now in a stream
I'm tethered to her
soft eyes and a dream
no longer am I
…..drifting away.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Love Would Be Free

I waited for a long time
but she never came along
her heels, dragged the road
a deeper sign untold.


The trees whispered smoke
in the mornings dust
of the dawns second light
this sleeping menagerie
of a muddled mind
movements
- churning sifted time
on the days first breath.


Some days, are a long day
when your falling from the sky
some days are hard days
when lavender turns to purple
under the shadowed eyes.


I walked through the door
with life running still
then noticed, I was left behind
with no one else to blame
as the leaves fell to the floor
I felt them all - like fallen trees.


When I thought about it
what else could I believe
she once promised me
that love…..
would be free.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Just A Heartbeat Away

She cried in the garden
as ghosts appeared
watching shadows
buried under stone
of her life, which disappeared.


Her light blue eyes
dripped sorry
unforgotten stains
of yesteryears
hiding her tears
in the rains… of tomorrow.


Then she cried in a drawer
a journal of memories
of long heard footsteps
now turned the other way
fading….behind a closed door.


One wall at a time
that crumbles away
shows the light
and a lover
who washes….
these shadows away.


Now she's my darling
in my river of veins
she lays next to me
just a heartbeat away.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Passion

Passion once ran through me
like wind in a valley
coursing through, now hollow veins
these rivers of hope -
now drained of dreams.


I rushed towards the mountains high
to only find disdain.


Friends like trees
who waivered in the wind
and uncaring vanity
on crowed beaches of cement
covered with icy stares.


I once knew passion
like the back of my hand
and felt love so deep
my knees would buckle
tears pouring on the ground
- but it was never found
and I…left crawling away.


If you looked in my eyes
you would see deep pools
passions waterfalls
which drown me….


You would see love on the beach
travelled hands, that explore
a mind that cries for you
you would see inner strength
which carries you away
and you would see me
- holding you.


You would see my passion
and we would devour life.


But life keeps trying to devour me
And  everyone else…
- just looks the other way

uncaring… about the passion
they just think…it's another day.


But I try to find the passion
- and you.

Monday, October 3, 2011

A Broken Heart

A broken heart
now split in two
no longer whole
these separate pieces
torn apart, by loves youth.


Like jagged edges
weeping, dripping….
mournings due.


Which cascade
past the edge
of memories
licking shaded wounds
of discoloured hues.


Are the tender days
of silken youth
splayed upon an ageless mind
then snatched away
unsown, by the thread of time.


But as cold earth, dusts….
my furrowed brow
it's I, who still weeps
- for you.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

They Grind Me

They grind me
like sand on dead skin
grating words of decay.


Spontaneous is the transformation
which rubs me the wrong way.


These hound-dogs
which hunt by scent
spoiling for a fight
beneath a sunny tree
spewing barks, that bay
at the collared man.


They grind me
like rich thoughts
crushing poor minds.


These turning cranks
of twisted, hobbled shoes
uninspired parities
and their insipid tunes.


They grind me
like a government
of cold pavement
which grinds away the street.


They grind me
on papered pulp
as the ink runs away.


Leaving but a worn soul
which has been ground
yet still…..


they grind me.


Friday, September 23, 2011

Draw Me

Pull me like a direction
cause me to move
infuse me…. with you
an inherent source
like white lines of words
on a road of life.


Delineate me as a charcoaled vase
a portrait with broad strokes
this character you see.


Sketch a deep black window
without a shade
sketch the light of day
depict a scene of colours
unseen by the naked eye
hidden in the hues
drawn out - by you.


Reproduce, what no others see
and empathize the vividness
an outline of a painting
washed out by the sun
a life between the lines


- then draw me.



Thursday, September 22, 2011

Loves Due

He woke beneath a beating sun
to an afterglow of loves depart
as she washed away his worries
on tides, now held at bay.


Then she kissed him in the light of moon
and in the darkness of his day.


Suppressing kindled fires
stacked upon clay pots
smoldered, were the arms that wrapped
now charcoaled, his phosphorous thoughts.


Yet steam billowed from the sails
white foam, splayed across depth of draft
as he coursed through….rough seas
she watched his heart bail.


What more could she give
but hold her love, to his course true
he'll navigate this jealous remorse
to understand, loves due.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

For Me

In the darkness, I see swirls
little twirls of vision
which, spin around.

Interlocking webs of thought
fingers, that entwine.

Lightning in the distance
a streak across my eye
but when I open up
what do I see
but nothing.

Sitting in the darkness
its only me that sees
these little twirls
of make belief
which are only meant
- for me.

Change Must Come

Travelled roads
these graveled feet have seen
deep layers, beneath….
the past - of where he's been.


Is a ridden track of steel
a cold line - yet defined
which pulls the weight
- he drags behind.


A shadow, of a long day
he pines away - this stretch of mind.


But change must come
around a cornered bend
to turn his thoughts away
from this metered road within.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Unexpected Moments

What are the possibilities
when you reach out - and find
a hand, which fumbles….
into the warmth, of mine.


It's this simplicity
the very magic and the mystery
of little dreams, that saunter
such a wonder, that we find.


In a world, which turns around
life is so much closer
these unexpected moments
- are often found.


So regardless of the circumstance
whether a rainy, or a sun soaked day
an occurrence, or a happenstance
it's the warmth of finding rays
surprising sparkles, which shine
in the middle of our day.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

If I Could Paint

The following poem was inspired by the noted picture of Katherine Priddy.  I contacted Katherine via her YouTube channel (http://www.youtube.com/user/pridsters) and she graciously provided her permission to use this specific picture of her, with two poems - "Two Hearts" and "If I Could Paint".  Please note; these poems in no manner, reflect Katherine, and are purely works of poetic fiction. 
Additionally, I encourage everyone to visit and subscribe to Katherine's YouTube channel, as she is a remarkable talent, with an angelic voice!


In the distance - I see
a love, far, far away.

If I could paint a picture
with the brush of my hand
you would see the fragrance…
and the pink blossoms, strewn
beneath the white flesh…
of an apple tree.


If I could paint for you
- I would paint me.


I would paint love on my face
wide eyes adorned with hearts
lips slightly apart, which whisper
little pearls of lustrous joy.


In the distance, I see
our future…..
the beauty of love
is painted in the vision
and what I now see……
is you - painted on a canvas
- of me.

Two Hearts

The following poem was inspired by the noted picture of Katherine Priddy.  I contacted Katherine via her YouTube channel (http://www.youtube.com/user/pridsters) and she graciously provided her permission to use this specific picture of her, with two poems - "Two Hearts" and "If I Could Paint".  Please note; these poems in no manner, reflect Katherine, and are purely works of poetic fiction. 
Additionally, I encourage everyone to visit and subscribe to Katherine's YouTube channel, as she is a remarkable talent, with an angelic voice!
 

Thin straps, holding life
supported by a string of pearls
from shoulders, to a graceful chin
and ears of listened thought
which hold the anchors
that ground her - from within.
She steps from blackness
the beauty of her shadow
now outlined - in light
a stark reminder, to the contrast…
of emotional hues, which pale
to her interior, and poignant life.
But in a moment of reflection….
she peers - across the channel
to see two worlds - divide
so on sailing eyes….. she swims
to dock her tender lips
on shadowed tears.
She must convey her love
like two hearts - written upon her skin
so his eyes are drawn to her
and she whispers love songs…
- to him.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Feathers Float Away

Buckskins, scraped with  bare-knuckle scrubs
a destroyed village - runs down…to the mud.


As water rushes, then overwhelms
the banks - along the shores
of destiny, lays the soil of men
and their worn cloths.


Their knees are skinned
and so are the bloody red hands
of the coats - like Custers last stand.


In the black hills of the greasy lands
no bands play, but seven-beats
of an Indian drum - are heard.


The winds change and clouds reform
as the feathers - float away.

His Mind

His mind was up….

Spinning round and round
but it went nowhere;
like circles of the day
which spun into the night.


A single thought
cast in a straight line
dancing in the mind
bouncing off a mirror
then caught -
in the vortex of a twirling
ceiling fan….. and time.


Like particles shown
in sputtered light
free floating…..
until the clouds come
which stifle the darkness
hiding - the moonlight.


He watches the fan turn
spinning around in time
but, with every turn…..
the clock slows
but never does - his mind.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

To Read and Deduce

She lies on my desk
and stares at me
so I introduce her
to an old friend.
Miss Blanc Page
may I introduce
this scoundrel
Mister Pen.
Dear Miss Page
the pleasure is mine
but if I may be so bold
can I press upon you
and engage your fibre
so we may further entwine.
Oh my Mister Pen
that’s quite a line
but I’ve heard stories
about you, and you’ve left
quite a stain.
-----
What a beautiful joining
that may produce
a young masterpiece
for the future minds
to read and deduce.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

His Ball of Twine

Entwined within his mind
an unraveled line of thoughts
like spaghetti on a marbled top
is nothing, without a sauce.


Congealing mess
this clumping stress
which jells
leaving sentiment behind
a stickiness
to his noodle soup
and hardening of the mind.

A ball of twine
wrapped too tightly
in a sloshing mental brine
unraveling knots
an idea caught
unable to define.

Then woven is the chemistry
of electrolytes, which flow
to a medium that joins      
a connection between the dot's
as his ball of twine - unwinds.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Snarled

Deep beneath the forest floor
under trampled rotted leafs
- of a fallen life.
Tucked between the "snarled" lips
lays the roots of man and tree.
Sits a scratching post…
surround by gnarled bones
- of memories.
Where the jackal waits  
- nocturnally
- in me.

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

May Bloom

Once upon a time, I stood so tall
but now I often - well, sometimes
I fall, and wither to the ground.


I never used to be like this
all dried and twisted in my thoughts.


There were goals and rainbows
which never seemed to end….
but then, the colours of my life
began to bend - and twirl
….around the moon.


When I was just a boy
at the window, in my room
it all seemed so fun back then
until a shadow passed in gloom.


Did I ever mention
that I once stood so tall
I thought I had it all.


I used to think, if she -
would only hold my hand
wouldn’t life be grand.


I'm pretty sure
I'd be standing tall - then
like a flowered stalk
and her the sun.


Well, I'll just sit here for a while
perhaps I'll make a castle
and gather all my thoughts
in a court yard - where all my dreams
May bloom.

Mornings Dawn

Each mornings dawn
I search, while listening -
to the pattered beat.


My racing heart
which drums…. …. ….
and seeks.


For a glimpse, just a peek
of you.


This ache, I understand
pain, without a jab
ribs, which take my breath away
a thumb to plug the dyke
and wash me -
with your gentle hands.


I want to wake
each mornings dawn
knowing that you're there
not gone.


The brightness of my life
is dim -
without you, I have
no morning dawn.

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

I Hear A Bird That Whispers

This little heart which cries
to each beat upon a quiet storm
a tear drips, from withered high.


Her feathers wrapped
she cuddles to her breast
while others stand aloft
chirping - unconcerned
about her solitude
or the salty dew
in the mornings nest.


But far away - I hear
a broken heart which patters
and a little bird that cries
I hear a bird that whispers
and a little pieces of me…. just dies.


Delicate, my songbird
she matters more to me
then all the other birds
who simply fly…. on by.


No longer do I wish to hear
the whispers or the tears
I want to look towards the sky
so I can see my little bird
now flying……way up high.


------------------------------------
When you finally see the blue
the sun inside will shine
and then my little songbird
 - so will I