some
times,
my words
whisper—
soul to soul
they linger,
they live,
they radiate—
echo, echo,
echoing—
heartbeat
to heartbeat
delivering
healing,
hope,
happiness
and when
that happens,
that is enough.
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Dark and Stormy
Temperatures will tumble, shift paint into snow, making morning commute, slippery and slow.
The Sun Still Rises
Sun rises ona new dayflickering lightfrom dark cornersof my soul I refuseto surrenderto sorrowfor I knowlove lives on light and faircalming the thornsand trencheson my trail sadnessseeks faithto kindlehope’s flamelight and fair spring’s sundeliversdelight behind winter’s somberslumber
A tortured poet
I’m the tortured poet
sitting solumnly
during starlit hours
staring at blank screen.All I have are words
Objects age and need repair, pass on to others, or get discarded. When I am gone, all that will remain of me are my words.
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