I heard you cry
I heard you call my name
I heard your sigh
Echo its sad refrain

I felt your tears
As they dropped down on me
I felt your fears
Of what, had come to be

I heard you cry
I felt you kiss my lips
I don’t know why
Love has to hurt like this

I felt your pain
As you held on to me
It’s hard I know
To let me go
You loved me so
Now you must, set me free

I heard you weep
As you put down my hand
Our lives we keep
Like footprints in the sand

Imprints of love
We share along our way
Then disappear
As tides wash them away

I heard you cry
I felt you kiss my lips
I don’t know why
Life has to end like this

Just loneliness
Longing for what had been
Those days are gone
You must go on
Think of us when
We are together again

My darling please don’t cry
Someday we all must die
I go to take my place
Wait there for your embrace
So wipe those tears away
We’ll meet again someday
And start our life anew
There I will wait for you
BOEMS BY JA 419

time has a scent
that's quite different
from bitter lemon zest
to cool peppermint

like that of sidewalk chalk
heavy rains keep washing off
time comes in many colors
beyond that on the box

sampling a taste
pouring out in waves
time is a surgeon
set to operate

is a makeshift shelf
where life's books are held
to one day be read
by somebody else

time is all of these
among many other things
but most of all
time is the cruelest of thieves

I am alive buried in an avalanche
Of thoughts, every depth
Is the cavernous nature of being
By myself, living by myself,
And looking for myself
In the wade of the dark waters.

I cannot accept this me.

I write, I perceive, existing.
There is a thousand mirrors
With echoes in the labyrinth,
My voice
Cannot listen to itself.

Why am I screaming.

I feel like a prisoner
In this chamber
Of a universe's mind,
Thoughts of a playful dahlia,
Maybe I am naive.
The me inside me
Cannot exist without
The me that does without
Thoughts.
Two way existence
In a one way mirror.

I don't know the reflection.

Wounded man
Of a voiceless persona,
Who am I to know myself
Against a labyrinth of mirrors,
Each an odd reflection
Of a past that becomes infinite,
Buried beneath a thousand of me.

He pulls away, precariously balanced
above the raucous creek slicing through
the campground’s city-like togetherness

she protectively hovers, hands cupped
inches from his slender back, prepared to grab
honoring his need for independence

the crooked lodge pole leans
toward what little sun is bestowed
upon it by its larger brethren

a mother, a child
a tree, a stream
soft light.

it is only a poem to her I say
this young child's query who exhibits dismay
but daddy it's so sad
I don't like it this way
let me fix it to make you smile
to make you happy for just a while
you'll like it better
you'll like my style
I'll change dark to light and shadows to Sun
it will be much better by the time I'm done
you'll see daddy
I'll make it fun
you can read it when you're all alone
when the Sun has gone
and I have grown
then call me on the telephone
to tell me you love me
and I'll say
it's only a poem daddy