Under my finger tips,
The marble of her body gave way to my skin.
She is something so beautiful,
She could only be art.

I, a pitiful patron to her presence,
Could not have imagined her existence.
Yet here I am in a dream so wonderful it is cruel,
If I ever am awakened I will never experience better.

I open my eyes each morning,
As if by a miracle-
She is still there.

Do not cry over pain
That does not leave a scar.
There will be wounds much deeper.

This morning I buried my head in your pillow,
I wept some how even more.
I can barely smell your scent on it;
Less than the day before.

This morning I woke up,
For a moment I forgot that you were gone.
Just for a few sweet seconds,
I did not know it has been so long.

This morning I count up the minutes,
From the moment I saw you last.
I am not able to leave you behind,
To abandon you in the past.

This morning I remember you so fondly,
It is like you never left.
Even though your heart stopped beating,
To have known you I am blessed.

I brought home a lot of demons,

I picked up in the desert sun.

They leap out and bite my children,

But look at the medal Daddy won.

Of great expectations,
Of coarse down fall,
A making as delicate as rose petals,
Unique as snow flakes.
Entwined, but never touching.
Beautiful, and wretched.
Desolate, and crowded.
Unrefined, and elegant.
Always going forward,
Without destination.
Harsh in our elements,
Yet soft in our nature.
How can you sum up
A thing as treacherous,
As beautiful,
As sad,
As vast.

A breath of wind,
Ice, ice cold.
Frozen in time,
You won't grow old.

Please, love this broken body.

  Because no one else ever could.
    
     Bring me peace and quiet,

        When my ears scream in pain,

                    From the sounds deep inside,

                                      Residing in my broken brain.
      
                            Forgive me and all the things I've done

      Though I will never forgive myself.

         Just take me in my sleep,
  
                                                             ­                  Before I **** myself.

           Hell can't be hotter than the desert sun,

              Nor worse than the image of weeping children,
        
                                         Damaged by my hands.


          Help me, I will never be the same.