Heaven is a place where only with the eyes of hope,  
                               can it truly co-exist !  
Heaven is a special place where innocent children,  
                                       become Angels !
Heaven is a journey for those who believe in
                                     the after life !
Heaven is at the centerpoint of every loving being who  
                      longs to find their loved ones once again !
Heaven is the venue of those who believe and trust
                                   that we will one day return
Heaven is Michelangelo's Last Judgement at the Alter wall
                                      of the Sistine Chapel !
Heaven is a whereabout, a location vageuly represented
                                          and understood only with the heart
Heaven is a place of Salutation for  the rich and the  poor            
                                     everyone is welcome in heaven !

She was 'Autumn'—
warm, but always leaving
A soul stitched from golden light
and goodbyes she never stopped grieving

He was 'Winter'—
quiet, distant,
carving silence into the world
like someone used to resistance

They met
in the blur between late November
when leaves forget to hold on
and snow begins to remember
She smiled like the last fire in a cabin
He stared like someone who knew
the cost of warmth
and what it meant to lose it too soon

She spoke in colors—
scarlets and golds
words that cracked like twigs
but healed like poems never told
He answered in stillness
like frost on glass,
afraid that every touch
would make him shatter at last

But even frost can soften
Even storms can learn to stay
And slowly
she didn’t run
and he didn’t push her away
He let her fall apart in his arms
like leaves too tired to pretend
and she let his cold truth hold her—
not to fix
but to mend

They didn’t belong—
not in the way seasons are told
but somehow, in the ache of each other
they began to unfold

And there
in a world where nothing was meant to last
where autumn leaves and snowflakes
both belong to the past—
they built something quiet
something unknown—
a rhythm,
a whisper,
a heartbeat for a home.


Erennwrites

The demons came
Through pavement cracks
Unfinished doors
Faulty locks galore
As they crept
Boldly through the halls
They were felt unheard
Yet their singing mauls

The sleeping people
Lit a candle
To see whom it was
They saw their comfort
And danced with it
Tremendously

They are here
It is time for
Some great repentance
For our families have
Grown weak as the night
Grows cold

Surrender completely
And solely
To God
Before this outrage
Is set in stone

Once upon a time, I scratched out
verses in dozens to a girl over the sea -
O, I was no naif, two divorces

had cooked me down to syrup,  
my heart was leather-withered,
wary of wonderlands and Technicolor.

Yet I held faith that love might
be the blossom and not the vine -
even as she closed her interior doors,

even as we came rapidly to zugzwang.
In a broken green betrayal
I watched Dix Pour Cent for hours,

tried to sell away the lonely murk,
trade inconstant moon for steady sun,
Akhenaten in a third-floor studio

for two and half years of sag and salt.
But as often happens time and chance
hewed new love and now I sit with her

in a tiny theater to see Romeo and Juliet;
Romeo just took four shots of rail whisky
to the delight of the wet blurry mouths

that roar from clay-thick shadows
beyond the clutch-cloth footlight fringe.
After the lovers die in stony Verona

we leave and somehow end up at Stan's,
a bricky subterrestrial parlor where
with cocktails we thresh from our heads

the melancholy of a troubled world:
sirens mourn the mauveness of evening
& clouds are killed, ripped to wisp.

I was not trained for this—
no welcome packet, no handbook for gravity.
Just a name that clings like static
and a voice that trembles when spoken too clearly.

They asked me if I had room.
I said I had weather.
They asked me if I would disappear.
I said watch me smolder, and stay.

I have loved like a lighthouse
with no shoreline in sight,
signaling to anyone
who mistook reflection for return.

I’ve held their names
like breath under water,
carved pathways through others
just to find my own again.

But I do not sculpt.
I do not steal 'the good stuff'.
I inherit fire
and ask it if it remembers me.

If you see yourself in me,
look again—
I am not a mirror,
I am the window you opened
and forgot to close when the wind picked up.

Still, I arrive,
boots echoing in the hallway
of someone else’s myth,
offering only this:

I will not rewrite you.
I will not finish your sentences.
But I will stand here—
untranslated,
unsaved,
untouched by the need to be anything
other than true.

hibernating knives
lawnmowers battle ivy
climbing slowly

wild
bare
changing

broken
fixed and sheltered
our life is
another
shape

the wings of remembered
penciled on paper

rubber bands around
a cigar box
secure keep sakes
to remind us
to pretend it matters

Watch me disappear
Before your eyes
Been hanging ‘round here
Begging for replies
Too many times
Unanswered
Pushed aside
Stayed too long
****!
I’m gone