There's a ghost in the machine
A distant heartbeat
An echo
A recollection of tides pulled by the rhythm
Of the moon
A lunar cycle
Of leaves swirled
And now settled
By the whisper
Of the breeze
A message repeated
But not audibly heard
Remembered and understood.
You are in the right place
Where you need to be
All you need now
Is to breathe and be.

There is no shame
in the show of color from your heart
running to meet mine,
leaping at the chance.

The contrast between
what I have, and what I need
is too plain to see.

The pain of a bed that stays empty,
more like roommates
than lovers entwined.

The ache of a heart that is longing
for yet another
that I can call mine.

My melancholy,disquite muse,was the one
Who taught me to empathize with,beats of
Waves, moon lit nights, mermaid songs
Whale whistles of lovelorn moments,
Heartbreaks ending failed love affairs
That haunts the hearts like unmitigated thirsts.
She walks me through the garden path,
Taking my cold shivering hands
            ....in her warm trembling palm...

I see the young blooms fallen from
The lap of the vine, that held them close,
Fondled with such affection, showered for a lifetime.
I see all of them,trampled over,crumpled in the dust.

The withered flowers on bushes we pass,one by one,
They look lackluster  in the crushing
Harsh sun, my muse who refused to speak all along,
Now has teardrops rolling down her eyes.
She makes my crusted ice cap collapse, I melt
Not being able to look at my heart broken by beloved.

I look around for a bud or a sprout extolling hope
A young shoot softly whispers,"Life is here, in wait"

as the Nightingale sings
so a poets silence
as deep as the black Universe reigns.