many forlorn dreams are but whispers set free, an echo,
times past reliving memories never to come around again
but in the telling there lies a truth, a story once come true
when as free as the wind, wild as the sea, a journey you did make.

no one will get bogged down in my mire
feel the weight of all my shortcomings
have to deal daily with my weakness
no one mortal unequal to the task
facing reality and the acceptance of love
- only a God could possibly fulfil.

you will look into the depths of love
maybe a fleeting glance
all the doors will open
and you will deny love no more.

the Universe makes room
nay, gets a special place ready
for the birth of your poem.
it will be heard where needs
must, and must be sung,
as surely as the Universe
is not whole without it.

concentration is a flux, hard to hold like mercury
slips through the mind and disappears somewhere
deep. Takes on a life of its own, concentrates in
a daydream, a universal story of love and hate.
The why and wherefore of our race, apes that are
finger painting walls, learning to write, painting
pictures with words, trying to understand and to
be understood, to stop wars, hold up love in a chalice,
bitter and sweet, make peace happen, everywhere at
once, without exception, change war mongering into
love, even one inch, one millimetre, one fleeting moment.