The time has come, but no one knows why or what for.
They sit and wonder, will they get caught?
The time has come to do right, to see what to do.
People are full of lies,
Not only to others but to themselves
But the time has come to tell the truth,
Everyone’s time is different,
It won’t help to run, to hide,
Face it and take what will come,
Because the time is now.

Dry sound of footsteps
Continue regularly
Close to this lamp.

How heavy the days are.
There's not a fire that can warm me,
Not a sun to laugh with me,
Everything bare,
Everything cold and merciless,
And even the beloved, clear
Stars look desolately down,
Since I learned in my heart that
Love can die.

A tragedy it is,
To desire the fate that is not available,
The need to love;
The yearn to fight a battle filled with empty,
Invisible, yet incessant;
The need to waste away in a liberty that he or she alone possesses,
That he or she alone beholds.
A **** shame it is,
To allow insanity to take over,
When it is indeed sane to feel the way you do.

when someone dies
the world is changed
and we are forever altered -
infinite choices were never made ,
memory can take her from us but that does not change
that what could have been is not
and what has been is permanent ,
fate must find us a new road
devoid of her actions,

When there is nothing to do.
I think of you.
When I'm down on the ground,
no lift in me,
I think of you,
a tall strong tree,
lay down with me,
you stop for free.
You thought of me.
I wonder if I chopped you down,
or did you lay your branch
your leaves to hear the sound
of my tears drip. They drop.
In the forest, lost.
My land is sand, sift, dried from
past jealousy.

****** into a vacuum of unknown variables and invariable outcomes,
Yet here I am, tracing the lines of your silhouette for as long as you need,
Grains of sand, blown and washed away,
One
By
One
Clasp your hand in mine,
Intertwined,
We'll be forever clutching all we have,
Those grains of sand

There are days when I can feel you,
I can feel your mind working around me.

There are days when I read
your writings, so elegant and seducing.

There are days when I can't help but wonder,
'Are all these words meant for me?'

Then there are those days when I am certain
that to you, I am just a memory.