Hazy purity of morning
Beautiful uncertainty
Of the unblossomed bud of day

Walking down familiar halls
Searching for the face I love;
The clean scent of sanctuary
On freshly showered skin

I smile worth a hundred words
And keep my lips in silence.
Your hand in mine,
Our interlocked arms,
Together, you and I.

And as we go our separate ways
Our days unfolding the innocence
of optimistic morning sun,
we join again
in weary afternoon

The smell of your hair,
The hollow of your shoulder,
The light of my waning day.

And as evening ages, side by side
we sleep in nighttime’s shadows
before the sun awakens the sky
as we rise to the clear of morning.

Soft summer evening light
Warm potent silence in dimming air
A backyard bonfire warms my hands and
caresses my face,
Its smell intoxicating.
A strange emptiness stings when I know
that every serenity of life is worthless
without the warmth of your skin
radiating into me.

Love isn’t found in the throes of passion
under satin sheets,
Nor in the glisten of diamonds and gold.
Not even in the lips that tell you,
that you are their rising sun.
All that can be fabricated is worthless
when you find
that love is the silent voice listening
when you cannot bear the world any longer.

From the inception of our lives,
once sheltered in the warmth of the womb,
we wake to bright hospital lights
and our groaning mothers.

From the inception of our days
cocooned in the comfort of the blankets,
we rise to the nakedness
the frigid morning air.

Alarm clocks routinely ending
comfort we were never aware of
until we knew the bitterness
of being exposed to the world.

I lost my faith in art—
So I burnt every unfinished creation
haunting me in this paint-stained room
to ashes.

I lost my faith in poetry—
And I stare at my 3am
Purgings of the soul
With a sigh.

I lost my faith in beauty—
And I don’t know what to look into when
I see your innocent eyes

And yet I remember how a painting
Can halt my every knowledge of reality
And yet in me there must somewhere lie
The silent fire of passionate words
And still I remember the warmth of your shelter
In the bitter winter months…

But I’ve lost my faith in myself—
And I simply gaze at this world in no direction.

My little flower,
still a seed
planted gently in the ground.
Soaking up the water
Basking in soft, most soil
waiting.
Sprouting surely, you only teethe
through the dirt.
You’re no flower yet,
But I know your bud will bloom.

Your petals will be bright and lush;
your stem so green and strong.
You only peek through the soil,
but there are careless feet and snarling animals
to take you away.
But never worry, I’ll stand near
and keep the weeds at bay.

You pretty little thing
Sprouting yellow from the grass,
so delicately…
Staring into the sun
Rooted from the soil,
Declaring to the world that spring has come.
Careless feet trample you over;
The fate of all innocence,
bent and limp against the dirt.
They call you a ****, but it doesn’t stop you
from spreading your graceful seeds,
the wind as your messenger.
Hoping your words of hope wander
to the vicinity of fertile ground
As you wither back into the grass.