the ****** to wrinkles
was light fast
from peach fuzz to long hair and bell bottoms
to disco slow  so painful from
Air Force discipline to self employed
along the way unemployed a lot
from the Beatles and Stones
hell I'll never outgrow them.

from the eaves
into warm puddles by my feet
always falling are meanings

it is much more than a mystery or drama
how we seem to always meet between dawn and noon
here on the white paper plains

it is more than my dreams and yours how you look
so much like Godiva to me
to you I
may be Rasputin

for I fairly wonder how you look clothed
and not giving your deepest thoughts
to anyone meandering by.

I must seem like the Hunchback in a
cathedral to you. Brash hunched words
loud and medieval.

Or a King with no castle, nor clothes.
No diamonds to hang on your pretty head.
No knight to protect you.

But, we still meet here, by fate or design,
and so in chance not to break the spell,
and tomorrow you might not be here,

I will just go on.

looking for
a purpose,
and coming up short
of worthy answers

I have walked a thousand deserts. I have swam so many lakes. I have died in countless fires on a reel of ever blurring takes.

I have woken from a thousand dreams. And cried so many tears. I have kept on searching for my love throughout a million grief filled years.

I have been told that Truth sets free. But for it I have seen many good folk hung. And oft have sighed at a new war, that same old butcherer of the young.

Yet seldom have I been at peace. And only once did I give my heart away. For an oath, sworn in my troubled start, has caused the ghost of Hope to stay.