A community,
one that takes you in,
and holds you,
and tells you too keep going.

How can we let these words,
that flow from the heart,
be out in public?

When you know people are reading your poems,
who is reading your poems,
can you really let yourself write freely?

When you need to write about your pain,
but the one who is hurting you most is following you,
how can you make it public?

I don't always want to talk about my feelings,
but I want to write about them,
and I want them to be known,
just not by all.

I love the critics,
and the comments,
and the like,
it's the views that scare me.

It's three thirty a.m.
And I am wide awake.
Clutching the tiny gem
He gave to stop heartache.

By all rights I should be
Utterly furious
For him calling at three,
Not being courteous.

But I grin in the dim
Light of my alarm clock
Thinking only of him
And our somewhat brief talk.

i see you in the silence
and the blanks of
mind. crazy how violence
says more about love
and its power. the contrast
is fading unlike your
eyebrows, and the last
drop of sanity hits the floor.
thoughts of you as
your actual presence,
because your absence has
finished its evanescence.

Once I thought we'd be together
When we were younger; forever
Entwined by secrets and friendship.
Never thinking about hardship,

The difficulty of growing;

It's definitely not your fault
But I still blame you by default
Because the guilt does not belong
With me and I have done no wrong

**Not loving you as I once did.

Daddy stop!

Mommy don't go!

The bell rings and there at it again,
circling each other waiting for an opening.

Though I may have aged,
when this happens I am back to being seven.

Watching wide eyed as the lion and the lioness size each other up,
and then the brawl begins.

It starts off soft,
first the strings,
then slowly but surely,
all of the instruments are added in.

Before you know it all you can here is the
bang,
of the drums,
and the,
crash,
of the cymbals.

Every beat is being thrown at me,
I retreat to my room,
but there is no safety there.

Eventually it gets silent,
until you hear the footsteps.

With every stride you can hear them sharpening their blade,
preparing to take down one more,
and with one swing,
I fall.

I don't know what triggers it.
It could be the darkness,
A single word spoken,
A faint scent in the air,
Images burned in my eyes.

I only know that it shoots
Me without fair warning
With a force so strong
It knocks me off my feet
Leaving a critical wound.

she brought light
into the room
life came in
as she walked in

hearts were merry
when she spoke
everyone’s eyes
glimmered with hope

that was when
she was about
those were the days
when she was with us

people spoke
of the next day
in her presence;
people had bounce and cheer

I too saw
the radiance about
I too sensed the
life that stirred

that was when
she was about
those were the days
when she was with us

Now she is absent
we wonder where she’s gone
no one dares speak of her
nor of the good times

memory is oft our tomb
reminiscence our solace -
for what can we contemplate,
those weary
and for whom the future is death?