A white feather bird,
Sitting on my grill,
Under the quiet moon,
As the world stands still.

It tilts its head,
Eyes dark yet bright,
Speaking in silence,
In the hush of the night.

"Why are you sad?"
It asks with a sigh,
"Are you afraid?"
As stars fill the sky.

"What do you want?"
Its voice lingers near,
"Is it difficult?"
Soft, yet so clear.

I stare at the bird,
Yet words do not flow,
For how do I answer,
What I barely know?

I wandered through fields of golden light,
Chasing dreams beneath the amber sky.
Hope fluttered in the cooling breeze.
I reached toward fading stars.
Night whispered to me.
Silence held on.
Time dissolved.
I breathed.
Alone.
Gone.

1+1=3
Love defies mathematics.

Every poet is an old soul
with the remarkable talent
of carrying the centuries
of all poets' legacies
with just a pen
and a piece
of paper.