I lived for my own sake.
It was a big mistake.
I now live for Jesus,
and I am full of bliss.

I'm hurt.
Admitting that
is hard, especially
when I wish to be on top of
the world.

I wait
for tomorrow,
and as I do, I hope
and pray that everything turns out
all right.

Beautiful is she,
My one and only,
Who smells my flowers
For all the hours.

As our hands let go,
it was hard to say good-bye.
The love was still there.

To K.S.

I still have your kiss,
even though it has been years
since you last kissed me.

Was it the eyes
blushing in its delight?

Was it the lips
hungry for a big kiss?

Was it the smile
igniting passion from within?

Or was it the photograph
that made me love you?

As my eyes intently gaze upon You,
I can see a light shine from up above,
which has to tell me what I know is true --
All the hurt, pain, and suffering thereof
has now gone with the wind, gone to the sea,
made forgotten, made to be history.

I know
that I've done good,
that I've made a difference.
Why is it that I feel so low,
so sick?

Words cannot describe
the emptiness I carry
now that I'm alone.

I love You every day,
I love You every way,
no matter what they say,
because You died for me.

Sometimes,
I wonder why
I don't get so much as
a single "Hello" when I'm on
the phone.

There is nothing greater
while listening to the radio
than a soothing love song
that will take your heart
to a direction in your life
you had never expected
to see yourself in before.

You become a different person,
different than that of the
person you had once been.
Reality turns into a dream,
a dream that stays with you
longer than the three minutes
the music is bound to run.

And when it is all over
you begin to think to yourself,
"What have I just become?"

Nothing
really makes me
feel the way I used to.
And now, all I want is to be
happy.

I was once asked
to give the names of three people
who have helped me
become the true poet that I am.

"Tough question," I thought.
But I pondered for a minute,
and then another minute,
and still, another minute.

Finally, I came to the conclusion
that nobody had helped me
become the true poet that I am.

So I looked at the young person that asked,
and I gave him my answer.
I said "Me, Myself, and I."

To My Valentine

I thought I should say,
just so you would know
(and the world would know)
that I love you so
this Valentine's Day.

The worst thing there is
about having a birthday
is when it's over!

I wish
I could tell you
what I need to tell you,
but I don't know how you would think
of me.

My heart is melting,
melting like never before,
melting over you.

Seven years have passed,
and the moments we both shared
continue to last.

Nobody knew how,
but a large man wearing red
made his way inside.

Staying with a friend:
Listening to Joan Baez,
feeling inspired.

If I had to tell you something
that I know would make your day now,
and would make your day forever,
I'd say that you are beautiful,
and that you'll always be that way
no matter what tomorrow brings.

Life is like a poem.
It begins and it ends.
But in between the two,
it's a work in progress!

I didn't call you last night.
You wondered if I'd ever.
Maybe I should starting now --
it's better late than never!

She reaches over,
asking for something to eat.
But I have nothing!

I don't have to be
what I want to be
to be who I am,
which of course, is me.

You are breathtaking.
You fill me with emotion.
You inspire me.

Because I'm working at my job,
And it is cash that I'm needing,
I regret I'll be a no-show
For next week's poetry reading.

But please don't feel too bad for me,
As I plan to make the next one,
With newly-penned material
That will leave the audience spun.

Whatever you do, don't stress;
Otherwise, you'll be a mess.

When I walked down that drive way,
To help as you locked the gate,
It did not occur that day
That months later you vacate,
Victim of stomach cancer,
And I would go to my job,
With my world a total blur,
Needing a shoulder to sob.

When I hear a small child,
Crying and going wild,
My mind starts to go crazy,
And the work becomes lazy.

It is hard to concentrate,
Yet harder for me to hate,
For I have been in their heels --
I know how the child feels.

Last night, while walking barefoot,
I stumped awkwardly on my toe.
The pain was so horribly real,
I screamed in agony "Oh no!"

Thankfully, Little Bill was there --
I call him My Sweet Billy Bug --
And with arms spread like an angel,
He tightly gave a big, bear hug.