Could you take this broken heart
this funeral beat, this withered soul
and take it back there to the start
to love again and make it whole.

Could you take these doleful eyes
of faded green, once emerald bright
and bring them up to meet with yours
to fill them with your loving light.

Could you love me in this moment
disregard my broken bones
shattered by another's longing
take my hand and lead me home.

If you could, not everlasting,
for a second, suspend time
would you press into my darkness
to place your healing hand in mine.

This I ask with humbled chorus
not for better, nor for worse,
the love you give it will not linger
let your blessing be my curse.

A heart waits

While sifting through the questions
piled high in a mountain of doubt,
reaching heights beyond belief
and scraping ceilings of torment

A heart waits…

Now tiring quickly, loosing strength,
finding the walk longer than you expected
Closing one eye to find the other does not see
and falling to dark corners of fear

A heart waits…

As volume amasses upon weakened shoulders,
and pain breaches the avenue
of store front sale signs
on locked door close outs

A heart waits…

When it all seems too much,
memos become lists of forever paper,
words scratched in blood ink
of empty pens spilling

A heart waits…

If you have found that point
where your mind says no more
and you feel that nothing will ever be enough,
please remember…

A heart waits…and that heart is mine

Between a baby's first word
And a deathbed confession
There are plenty of times
For God to say,
“I told you so.”

This night is too long, without you I toss and turn in hope of slumber, finding only isolation and shattering need. I ache, my heart a pulsing bruise, my body weak from all the wanting, my mind lost somewhere between your echo and the closing of the door. 

I am barely here, gossamer silence wrapped in satin bows and weeping scars.

I have become my own tragedy, a lost soul wondering through darkness, chasing the fireflies of my imagination but never grasping their glow. My age leaves me weary, too many years have passed unnoticed while your hands dealt passions blows in the name of fun and inappropriate pursuits, but to what end?
My loneliness is a heavy blanket that offers no comfort, our love is a lie without remorse and you, my love, are the noose from which I will hang.

You sit at your screen
fingertips flying in the face of decency
like a spigot attached to a vat of arsenic
dripping your poison, slowly, surely into the ears of the unthinking.

You justify the burnt skin, the orphans, the unending torture as deserved.

Deserved?

How can it be so?

Go tell the orphan, scarred and screaming that her fate was deserved.

Go stand beside mass graves and thumb your nose at the deserving corpses, stained by the blood of ages.

Where is your heart? 
does it choke and sputter,
buried beneath your all encompassing loathing?

You call me stupid, maybe so,
my views naive, my compassion wasted
yet my heart beats proudly, swells with love 
while my tired eyes drown at the unfolding horror.

War is not a spectator sport,
it is not justifiable, nor deserved.

Call me stupid if you will, ridiculous if you must
call me any number of names in your attack on my spirit
I will not care, I will not bend or bow.
Your hatred will be your undoing.
Not mine

A ragged, one eyed bear held dearly by a child.
A solitary leaf blown around on the summer breeze.
The smell of old books with turned corners.
The sapling struggling for light beneath the mighty oak.
The bounty discarded by the crabapple tree.
An ill advised mullet.
The opening chords of Born To Run
Kurt Cobains smile.

All these things bring you to me.