Into a poem
Feel the wetness of streaming prose
Wonder
If love shall be the towel
To dry away your tears
As one goes from here to over there
Young to old and old to wise and wise to demise
When the wine bottle tumbles from the table
Jump!
Catch the wine
If there are two hands entwined
Even a poet knows
Lay down the pen
And share that one glass of wine
Touch
The romance of time

Wrinkles and Tears

I saw him
Alone over there
Ugly and full of wrinkles, I stared

I saw him
Alone over there
His coffee cold, I stared

I saw him
Alone many times over there
Contemplating the emptiness in front of him

I saw him
Sipping his coffee
With such focus and contemplation

I saw him
Alone over there
I asked the old man "Mind if I sit here?"

I heard him
Full of life and memories
With such energy and glee

I heard him
As I learned of life and history
We became friends, his gift to me

I heard him
As he proffered advice, laughter and wise words
I listened to the deeper beauty behind that wrinkled facade

I saw…………………………….I saw
   A hidden tear did fall


We often took walks and whiskey shots
He filled my soul with a history I never had
His kindness was gentle his words comedic
I soon learned he was never alone
For he lived in a happiness I could never acquire
I now had to ponder a delicate question

That first day, in the coffee shop
Who was truly alone?

Now I have the answer filled
As I shed tears at this old mans tomb

Where there is darkness
There are no words

Where there is a void
There are no words

Where Oceans touch the skies
There are no words

Where fusion turns back time
There are no words

Where angels gaze
There are no words

Where tears mix with blood
There are no words

Before the explosion
There existed a litany of  beautiful words

That lay by the way side
Unused

Inside four walls
Imprisoned from life
For life
One escapes the shackles and bars
Within owns one mind
Left to wander
Unbeknownst to the guards and keepers
The mind travels beyond the highest walls

The free man
Burdened with sorrows
Regrets and grey skies that oppress
He, of all men, can wander too and fro
Botanical gardens and cathedral ceilings
Art and the classics to feed his hungry eyes
Exploring the world and the depths of his darkness
He, whom shall never be captured, never caught nor imprisoned
His incarceration was not a place, nor four walls, it was his own mind
For Sadness
There is no escape
At all