My world is not of the written word
It cannot be numbered
held captive on a so called page

My world is liquid
as sea , rain , snow or ice
It can be hot , cold , or entice

My world is cloudy
It thunders after it flashes light
My world is wrong , my world is right

There are no words that bind my life
I won't be delegated
to exist in the black on white

I will not be staved
by the limited sways
of the written words upon the page

You are the
        window
              to my pain
  Cloudy with
            no chance of clarity
      I can see
               how far
away you are
                    Out of focus,
           still hurting me
                      *so easily

Often when I am sad I will find a maple tree.

One afternoon, when you broke my heart for the first time,
I found a maple tree which I could look at forever.
The Comfort Maple, home sweet home.

For the next ten years I found myself running to this maple.

One morning, when I had awoke at dawn, I sat under the tree.
I found an apricot - colored leaf sitting about two feet away.
I held it towards my heart, home sweet home.

When I woke up that Saturday morning, something was odd.
I saw you at the foot of my bed, in tears.
You were leaving me, oh, oh no.

I decided never to visit home again, because home reminded me of you.
I walked by everyday, shame in my heart.
Wherever you were, I wished I could go.

Thirty years later, I learned to write.

I learned to write thanks to the Comfort Maple.
I began to visit daily, writing my heart onto a leaf of paper.
Wherever you were, my heart left to find you.

When I heard the news you had passed, my old hands began to shake.
I was living without you, but now I actually had to.
I started to believe that you live on; you are a poem that breathes.

My sweet angel I fear with the stones I shall remain,
I am doomed to repeat this unhappy existence,
Where my memory lives on when the vines and the leaves are gone,
And I become inhuman, merely an energy

My love the warmth of your skin and the melody of your song,
Will haunt my being while I haunt the living,
These brick walls, this concrete jungle, this manufactured light
From where I come I shall return

And I may never ascend in this lifetime
I may never leave the next one

My summer seraph who guards the one who wears the crown,
Who smiles at the trumpet Gabriel plays as she makes her way back home,
And gates open, pearly and golden, and to those trapped in this cycle unknown,
I shall be caught in a never ending story when my ability to speak has gone

My sweet angel, soft voices, feather hair, and love,
I only want to hear what is better left unsaid,
How can I know that when I die, my body, my blood
I will not become a ghost, still with desire to touch you?

And my memories live on imprinted in stones, and cobble walkways, and iron-wrought fences
When I wish nothing more than to be forgotten, and to forget
I may never ascend in this lifetime
I may never leave the next one

trees will fall
and skies will turn to dark eyes.
i'll fall for you
and my heart turns
to black nights

I remember the ocean the sound no man could write and only we shared .
Drinks to wash away with the tide .
We spoke of things we knew could never be and the road was destined to curve sooner or later it seems .

My delusions and your body so perfectly laid out  upon the sand and  flawless setting sun  the fire of imaginations and the passions of are drunken desires.

She was everything I needed and nothing to make me stay .
Maybe it's the moments like pictures scattered out across a ***** floor that allows us to linger or maybe I'm just another sentimental drunk like so many before .

I view you in that painting often in my minds gallery now more than ever as time has passed us by .
As wicked pleasures drove us and sounds like dreams simply were carried off into the dunes .

The most bitter wine can seem sweetest  to lips now parched from the long search for the oasis.
And I have worn my miles like shoe leather now clearly on display upon my face .

That picture stands a watermark of happiness I seldom know now .
A postcard of a  place I could never find again.

We all are haunted  in some way my dear.
I wonder ?
Does that picture within your thoughts linger just the same ?