I read somewhere,
If you can't sleep at night
It's because
You are awake
In someone else's dream...
and Now I Know
Why I am
Still wandering
In the hour
When the night breaks away
from the day
and the orange streaks
Paint the sky with color
My Dear!
Can you stop dreaming of me?

vision so vital
to all a poet is;
silent beauty whispers
its miracles only
to those listening.

the poet cursed
with eyes and ears
the clamor of
a living, dying world
inundates
their soul

finding refuge
from the deluge
in a quiet stream of stanzas

never realizing the blessing
of the eye of the poet

until all the words have dried

Its brightness compels me to peek through the truth
To observe the gray
To listen to stories told by painted lines
And to find my way
through channels dug by grief