Because on the darkest nights
I see faint rays of the purest light,
And among the fatal deceptions
lost in exalted sorrows,
       I know that there is still poetry.
When the words are welled
Inside a throat like a fire
Waking from its slumber,
Rain the embers to paper,
      The words like a familiar pain,
      Speak as the darkness speaks,
      Take in the honest friend,
      Let them take you to tranquillity.
Because when I am at my blackest,
The poem understands me,
It speaks to me,
Cries with me,
I give my darkest to its white surface,
       A cave serrated by light,
      The words will speak in the night,
      They will light the way
      To new dawns,
And you are never alone
If you have read these words,
Because through them,
We become as one.

" There is a name of God on every
Child's lips, and the word is
Mother"

    I looked upon her body
That began to leave itself
Suddenly into some stairway
I could not see in my grief.
    
    Mother of the Light,
You took the dawn with you.

The gilded heights that took
You, not the blameless bullet,
But the fleece of flesh you wore,
Now shed to spread your wings,
       Watch over you children's
Children mother of biological blood.
   Cover every atom, every electron,
With your mist that went away in
A flash, your delicate nature be blessed
Hovering over the earth.

    Ceremony of children,
Loving a mother never stops.

I wrote you a lullaby, listen,
Go to sleep, my dear,
Tomorrow's another day,
Another fight,
I just want you to sleep well tonight,
I'll softly sing you a song,
I know it won't right any wrong,
Maybe it'll comfort your dreams,
I'll work my hand through your hair,
Fall asleep,
For a few hours, have no care,
Close those eyes now, I'm always near,
And when morning comes,
I'll still be here

I was sitting on a wooden chair
Wondering what life could share
Does happiness for real?
If I have no hope and no one could heal.

I am surrounded by thick walls
No one could hear my woeful calls
I am covered by fainted gleam
Which no one could see my enormous pain.

The briny fluid keeps flowing around me
Screaming blatantly; this loneliness kills me!
I’m trapped and no one’s glad to rescue me
Why letting this happen by Thee?

Someone answered abruptly
“You’re not alone and always accompanied by me”
“I never leave even in your darkest day”
“You just have to kneel your feet, close your palm and Pray”

The Pain of Being in Love
With Someone You Can Never Be With.

You might think you are not thinking, but you are.
Lonely nights, wishful days thinking and planning,
Of how your life should have been,

There are two kinds of pain, but there are three kinds
of lovers, pain, insanity and
there is love in you waiting to give…
Suddenly you think of them as one
Falling in love, feeling the pain, and going insane...

Love is a very painful, insanity is rare
However, True love is a choice,
Lovers' festival is for true lovers,
Pain, Love, And Insanity of Red heart’s day

Two hundred years ago and yesterday
a sailor wrote a letter in longhand,
entrusting it to the road
back to his beloved,
where dawn was breaking
at the closest port of call.

A century ago, a shy and lovely
mail order bride wrote
to the man who would be her husband,
in a land entirely different from her own.

In her delicate, sincere questions, from a
heart wrapped in ornate brocade layers of
kimono silk, she hoped to begin to know him.

Relationships formed gracefully, over time,
an ocean of water and thought intervening.

Water and air may be there
keeping souls apart,
until they are meant to be united.
 
Now, two beloved young friends have found
in each other a twin flame, first seen shining
in the virtual world of today. With only letters,
or flares or morse code, these two would have
seen, and known, that light within one another.

Souls destined from very early on.

My loving eyes have seen them, decades from now,
leaning into one another, silver hair entwined
as they rest their heads together on one more journey.

I defy anyone who might challenge me,
seeing these two blossoming in love
from a virtual, chance encounter, 
to say that life is any less real
in the ways that matter most,
when it is born in abstract space,
in this manifestation of a reality
that is in itself a metaphor for
Reality.

Reality, is living,
deeply living,
the inexplicable,
unfathomable,
exquisitely simple
complexity,
of being fully human.