poem
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Dreaming Hearts
We dream a cold dream in the darkHolding our hands to our heartsStanding knee deep in the waterLiving for that little fire in our heartsPraying that we don’t get burnedLying in the ruins of our past lifeThe sun glows white hot above usSearing the land under its gaze by dayWe burn our hope for light Continue reading
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A Quest for Warmth, or The Tenacity of a Feeling
Legs so spider like that one must consider the presence of spiders creep slowly forward. Inch by hesitant inch they reach out, the feel for, yearn for, something giving and warm. Inch by tormenting inch they roam a dark and desolate landscape, one leg in front of another, in front of another, feeling nothing but Continue reading
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Morning Moments of Peace, or The Momentary Deceit of Dreams
In the morning haze, while dreams still cling to thought, still hope for continued existence, despite the odds, the world is a different place; In these moments I see faces both pure and foul, but faces always one of the two. I see hands extended to assist, others flexing messages of threat, but neither dare Continue reading
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You Are, or Just You
I want to call you a flower, but I do not want to belittle your brilliance by cliché. I also want to call you brilliant, but the connotations are too wide ranging. Do you shine? Perhaps your thoughts glimmer, your insights cast prismatic shadows, or you could infer that I am commenting on your post workout Continue reading
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Sounds in the Night, or Life Forever Young
Voices crescendo on a dimly lit shadow dancing Florida porch, falsetto-ing through late night nostalgia into early morning bliss; sun light a distant fear, the past a scar mended heartbreak, the now a rising song bringing community to those forswearing, or forgetting, society. Continue reading
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Anxiously Awaits, or The Storm Beyond the Horizon
Clouds gather, angels flap and fly away; a sweet old lady wonders “Oh dear, a storm is on its way.” A storm is on its way, always in some state of advance. That’s the trouble. The storm itself is just a chance for rain. Lightning explodes at the periphery. Inside lights flicker, everything shudders with Continue reading
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Ignorant of the Highs, or The Moon’s Dirty Trick
The tide has fallen. I missed its rise, was ignorant of its retreat, but I feel its ebb. I know only of its heights by the high water line, higher than I now sit. I wonder did the tide carry me gently, floating, still on its surface cradled in its motherly caress, or was I Continue reading
Ruins of Renaissance 