Like autumn leaves upon the river
and icebergs in the spring
I'm a captive of the current
driven by anothers whim

It seems I am adrift again
once more carried by the wind
with no anchor chains to hold me
nor ropes to bind me in

Will there ever be stability
within this soul of mine
will I ever find the one
that becomes the tie that binds

Love can make you deaf
and love can make you blind
love can make you take your friends
and leave them all behind

Love can lift you up
and love can bring you down
love can make you sink or swim
or wish that you had drowned

Love can make you happy
and love can make you blue
in spite of all these pro's and cons
I still fell in love with you

I see you in the spaces between words
in the things that go unsaid and go unheard
Your presence seeps into the things I cannot say
for to speak of them would give the game away
I work so hard just to keep things to myself
lest my soul become another book upon the shelf
But how can I keep this secret never shared
until I know how much or if you even cared
Do you ever think you see between the lines
the words you long to hear but cannot find.

Could this be the butterfly
that brings about a change
The birthplace of the hurricane
that cause things to rearrange
Could it sweep across the nation
from the bottom to the top
Could it be the inspiration
that makes us finally say "Stop!
It's time to end this madness
turn off the war machines
We the people, we want peace
do you remember what that means?"

Do you believe in serendipity?
That some things are meant to be?
Like the way our paths meandered
before you bumped into me?

Lower the flags
and turn out the sun
for they wont be home
their battle is done
Turn off the stars
block out the moon
lets share in the darkness
that took them too soon
A moment of silence
or two if you please
please turn off your cars
nothing move but the breeze
Let us all close our eyes
bow our heads for a while
lets remember their faces
remember their smiles
Remember their strength
right up to the last
and pray one day cancers'
a thing of the past

Poems come and steal my soul
and leave me here to bleed
Never wounding fatally
just taking what they need
An ounce or two of passion
a pound or two of pain
leaving me alone to heal
before harvesting again
Sometimes they give more than they take
with rhymes of which I'm proud
Other times my cries are lost
amidst the madding crowd
Yet my tale is not a sad one
for there is pleasure in this pain
why else would I keep writing
inviting them again?