Hear your voice in every note,
Feel your breath in every phrase,
As my fingers dance on the keys,
It's you I want to amaze.

But you are not here.

See your smile on every stave,
Sense your hands embracing mine,
An unresolved suspension,
Betrays what's on my mind:

You are not here

But then, in the reflection of that ebony grand,
I glimpse a moving figure,
I see your eyes looking back at me,
My music fades to a whisper.

You are here.

I turn to face you and you take my hands,
You place them gently back on the keys,
"Keep playing," You tell me,
"Let me hear more, please."

I take a breath,
"Now you are here, I could play you my soul."

distance eliminates simple joy of a smile
the warmth of a kiss is extinguished
the cheer of bright laughter muted
gentle grasp of holding hands slips
and we are left in confusion when their footsteps lead away
loneliness replaces tears of comical statements
and the smell of their scent vanishes like a shy ghost
for sunny skies turn gray
and the world around us continues on, when we are frozen in a memory
our passion and motivation remains on stand still
when nudged we fall over, and refuse to be picked back up
but if we measure love in miles
rare necessities become all the more precious
kisses become sweeter
conversations stretch past closing times in restaurants
hugs become tighter, and embracing releases all past worries
glances become longing
and moments become cherished memories yet to be created
only if we would measure love in miles, instead of love in seconds
cherishing with bliss and thanks would prolong

Sara L Russell, 23rd October 2014, 01:01*

She was sunlight and cinnamon;
all wide eyes,
auburn hair, fair complexion
freckles and fleeting laughter.
She was an enigma to her friends,
a golden girl to her parents…

Dappled sunlight turned her into
fragments of an autumn impressionist panting;
all her reds, golds and peach tones
wildly blazing,
vividly flaming in a sunset's haze.

She could make people laugh
with a dry turn of phrase.
She could silence a room just by walking in
through the door.
She could silence cruel words
with a withering look.

She was going to be somebody;
the world was going to know her name,
the future was forever -
until
he caught her, used her,
left her under autumn leaves
in a ditch by the roadside;

and he became somebody
and she became the face
of the girl killed by him.
Hollywood made a thriller about him
and his crime;
and her mother made an album of photos of her;
and the local paper published
her brief obituary.

I can never say what I feel inside,
and it kills me tonight
'Cause I'm watching you with all of these words
but nothing comes to surface,
I kiss you off once again with words bursting from my eyes
with a mouth gone dry, and all I say is "goodbye".

Graffitied, empty shadows cross the street
holding no one’s hand in the dead daylight
Tough little boys bullied into men
on brickroad neighborhoods
built for the needy

Abstract Gala supermarkets
Opening their doors for those with
thick rimmed glasses and high waisted jeans
but closing for the needy

Black spray painted letters on gray garage doors
expressing angst and boredom in a self-made city
Inked grotesques and broken glass lemonades
scattered gently along the road we call home

Watered down tomato soup dinners
that feed six but meant for  two and we’re
crouched along swaying bridges
when lights of the stadium
blind across the street

Brooklyn anticipation,
dreams of howling wolves and pines swaying
Brooklyn anticipation,
Brooklyn solitude

Zero;
You
Xenophilic
Wanderer,
Vastly
Unaware
That
She
Remembers,­
Quietly
Pondering,
Ominous.
Nothing;
Maybe
Love,
Kaleidoscope
Je­alousy,
Igniting
Hatred,
Grieving
For
Everything.
Done;
Can't
Beg­in
Again.

We are all just taking steps
Toward whom it is
We long to be:

We're only trying to be ourselves
The best we can
Full, whole,
Unbroken--

I do not think
my journey
Is so very Different
from Yours.

with stitches of love
he repaired the fabric
in her bereft soul