Yesterday

Turning stones
shows the grit –
layers, beneath
the hardened skin
the underbelly
where life begins.

As emotions bound
from rock to rock
which bear witness –
to the imprints
within.

Mother earth
is this the sun
have the burdens
been undone –
will the sea wash away
the salty brine…..

of yesterday.

You Are Worth More

I’ve lost the light
not seen for days
forgotten words
lost upon the page
with bold letters
standing in the cold
I’m left alone
to shiver – unable
to see my thoughts.

And in the dark I wander
meandering past
these closing walls
a tightness  to my breath
feeling for a switch
to change it all.

When truth
reveals the tears
then the light –
reveals it all.

In the corner
stands a friend
watching from a side
when all the mice scurried
they never left the hall.

And with a hug
they said –
this is worth more
than ten-thousand
words.

And you are worth –
more.

The Way of St. James.

I march to you
on feet, bent…..
at humbled knees
and sorrowed
by these cobbled sins.

On a scalloped path
which bears the truth
of many worn souls
that define –
these callused roads.

Once ridden by Napoleon
to find…. what remains
as I to search
to find ones path
on this journey
alone – on The Way
of St. James.

The Show

Each Face a play
a twitch
a wrinkle
an actors line
a smile smuggled out
between the curtained teeth
in this drama of the flesh.

But the fabric of life
this sadness which nags
like BOLD words
splashed on white walls
with patterned thoughts
now peeling away
to reveal –
imprisoned feet.

A face creaks
and the shadows hide
stage hands behind the eyes
but the show…..
the show –
must go on.

Nurtures Life

Has the sun fallen
where shall it hide
and wait till dawn –
so it can choke
the impious
reminisce of night
and laugh
as the moon crawls away.

To see the sun
on a virgin sky
caressing
white clouds of breast
like the silk of mornings dew
is a child sipping
on a new day –
as the mother
nurtures life.

But Why

It’s easy to lose people
they’re never where you left them.

But why?

And then you’re alone.

That’s when reality hurts
and the mirror stares –

And you notice the room is bare
like the souls beneath your feet.

What She Is

She is a circle
who encloses me
unable to breathe.

She is the stars
the ceiling
to my sky.

She is the candle
in the darkest part
of night.

She is the scars
that mark
the sunset.

She is a mystery
to my thoughts
the loneliness
to my society.

She is
indifference
to my screams.

She is the seams
on the nakedness
of who I am.

She just simply is
what she is.

Humans Bite

Under the wheat fields
live the roots of life
the steadiness
which holds the sway.

While souls
are sold for pennies
food for ransoms
as the dogs wag their tails
and the humans bite.

What Happens Within

What happens within
happens alone
quandary
delusion
or confusions
of stone.

But a penny found
a perspective seen –
shows new angles to sow.