I fell in love with dying suns
Chasms and cataclysms
I fell in love with landslides, avelanches, and falling rocks
I fell in love

I count the days
I count the hours

I fell in love with distant shores
Fading tides and raging oceans
I fell in love with angry water, jet streams, and all the currents
I fell in love

I count the days
I count the minutes

I fell in love with  the world you know
Hungry poor and feasting monarchs
I fell in love with your hope, your dreams, and your despair
I fell in love

I count the days
I count the seconds

I fell in love with your feet
Walking through the world we see
I fell in love with the mud, and the dirt, and the street
I fell in love

I count the steps

She is a gypsy queen
My queen
Who sees sadness in my eyes
And falls in love
She is on the road
And in the stars
Hanging over me as clouds
Shining over me as suns
She is a gypsy queen
Belladonna
A femme fatale fatally stricken
And falling further
She lives by her own rules
And in her dreams
Where our bodies intertwine
And in our hearts

We both know
We know it well
Nothing last forever
Not even pain

I wondered if she could love
But I know she does
Even love that is ending
Never dies
She fell in love
With the sadness in my eyes
And broke her own rules
To see me smile

You were always told that the answers you sought were inside you... residing in your body. But you never quite knew how to get them out. You resorted to cutting yourself open, you searched the scarlet letters that poured out but none of them spelled any words. It was like you were looking at a can of alphabet soup that had spilled it's contents onto the floor. And much like that can, after you spilled your contents, you too were empty. You cleaned up the mess but the inside was hollow and you still didn't have your answers.

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

An idea forms;
      We become the stillness in motion,
Between seeing and making,
     Contemplation or action,
The words cause us to act.

      We dare give eyes to the idea,
And pen to paper becomes
     A resurrection of presences,
Poetry,
      Like life writing itself,
A day becomes dateless,
     Life lights up these words,
We walk the path of inspiration,
     Truth lived and suffered ,
          Shared rage
           Shared passion,
              Shared abyss,
                 Shared love.....

In the end of the verse
The poet transfigures
Inspiration into incarnations,
Given as a sacrifice of self:

All that remains are the ghosts,
We are siblings in the void.

Started with words as most things do.
anger escalated to yelling and swearing.
She came at me, fire and hate in her eyes,
This petite little woman I called my wife.
Her fists pounding my face and chest.
Shocked more than hurt, I extended my
arm to hold her off.

No man could ever do what she just did,
Not without my strong physical rebuke.
Yet I turned not a hand to this woman I loved.
A day before I would have taken a bullet for her,
and now it appears she'ed **** me if she could.

How does Committed Love so quickly turn to this?
So it would seem, love is not even skin deep.
My father warned me of this fact, a truth
I refused to hear, and upon him I had turned
my back and chosen her.

To her disrespect and abuse,
I did what any decent man would do,
I walked out the door and never returned.