I watched my father kneel down on one knee over his parent's graves today.
      The stillness of the air
     was far greater than the few little
words that could have been spoken.
After a moment, he rose with a sigh,
wiping away several tears before
they could even leave his eyelashes.
     It was the first time I ever realized,
that one day,
  I too would be kneeling
over my parents,
devastated and speechless,
      leaving generations behind me
      with nothing more than
                   a faint
                          sigh.

she was a wash of milky moonlight
with purple iris veins
her fingernails glimmered like
the insides of shells as she laid
a delicate palm on the sleeping boy's
brow.
"i am your winter, i am your heartbreak"
she whispered into his dreams
and a shadow passed over his slumbering frame,
and it was nothing but night and rain
inside his subconscious.
she left with the scars of past regrets
and frosted jars filled with all the tragedies of
first love
the springs that turned rotten and foul
into a sticky heat  when flower buds die before they bloom.
with slow blinking eyes
the boy awoke
with his chest opened wide.
he clutched at his dilapidated heart
and wished for the icy caress of sleep
to pull him back under.

Lost the key

I dance in desperate movements,
stepping on toes as I go
Spinning out of control as faces grimace in my wake,
changing scenery like mirrored ball illusions,
tiny reflective squares blinding as they move
Still you stare, questioning gazes,
not making eye contact
but sensing my heart through the song…
playing in steady repetition

Fingers in your ears for fear
that it might touch you
in rhythmic hypnosis, shining pendulums
swinging in reverse tempo, challenging these feelings
you hold but still can not admit the lyrics
Prideful walls of bricked fortitude
built around your emotions sing of
locked entryways and barred windows
and it seems I have lost the key

Misplaced along out of tune wavelengths
while pitchy corridors of doubt
fill in the shadows of this that I desire
Still I extend a hand, “would you care to dance?”
Dark eyes squint as you focus, looking beyond the bandstand,
finding mistakes of the past playing in three quarter time,
heading towards the stage door exit,
tapping your toe in cadence with the drummer
who now stops…along with the beat of my heart

I wish I was the kind of person

That could write as beautifully

As the midnight sky

Or your eyes

Some days
I have so many ideas
I can write
and write

Till my pen runs out

Or my arm gets tired

Or I run out of paper

And start to write in books
I’ve read

Too many times

Then there are days when,

my mind is full

But there are no ideas.

No motivation

Just loud voices,

A mess of thoughts

Most of them aren’t even my own

(Maybe I shouldn’t say that

Someone might think I’m crazy)

Just because someone’s mind is

Thought ridden

Doesn’t mean they will turn it

Into art

I think if they did

Someone might get hurt

Writing

It’s dangerous

Not just to an author

But also to everyone else
around them

You are not sitting up in a throne,
listening to angels play the harp
and worship You.
You are not looking at me from a distance,
You are not a million miles away.
You are here.
You are in
the sun's rays
the roses' scent
the ocean's waves
the clouds' rain
my heart.
You are everywhere.