A walk along the pebbled path,
searching for one whose passed.
Earth, stone, and death,
nearing the marble unkempt.

What to do but stare,
peering into the nothing there.
No breath, no flesh, no words, nor sounds,
merely what is left deep underground.

Why does this ritual ease the soul,
there must be a happier place to go.
Somewhere to feel the love that is,
It is not too far away to look within.

Safely there your memory remains,
as it will till I am no more.
Embracing you there relieves the pain,
feeling your energy is what the heart beats for.

Remembering your eyes, smiles, and words,
give me peace for you.
You are always loved,
and never forgotten.

“It’s a great life if you don’t weaken. “My aunt Helen did confide.
She is somewhere north of eighty-four and never someone’s bride.
Her beau died in Korea, died to keep our country free,
“ At least that was the pious pap they tried to sell to me.”
So she lived a solitary life, watching horses round the rail.
She would hang around casinos too, the reason she’s so pale.
“There are no pockets in those things.” She told me at a wake.
“so you won’t catch me sitting home, that’s a big mistake.”
In these later years she might enjoy a second glass of wine.
She is fiercely independent; she is a good friend of mine.
So, if now and then thoughts scatter and she tells a tale again.
I smile and listen patiently. We all get there in the end.

It's only when
you are in the other room
realize how much you love her.

Stings you the pain
sinks you the gloom
the void seems impassably far.

You wish could walk back to her
cover the space  with a run
look her eyes' dying star
plant there a risen sun.

The other room chills your bone
cripples you with fear
here you are terribly alone
with the hatch shut forever.

Pause before that long distance
where love meets its doom
for hardly is a second chance
once you enter the other room.

a tree house let's build
tucked amid the leaves

where no will is unfulfilled
for the soul to ever grieve.

up away from madding noise
create a cave of peace

where tears flow of pure joys
nothing feels amiss.

far from the rush of town
high on windy space

where blissful hearts without frown
pure love harness.

let's make that home on tree
out of reach of race

for the mind to bloom carefree
in forever happiness.

Before I go, I have to know;
                Your arms
       Did they ache to hold me?
(Just like mine did.)
       Why
           Couldn't you care more about
                         Me?
                    (As much as I did.)*
A friend of mine had said we were like passing clouds
We met and together unleashed          
     lightning
              Strikes
                  Smolders until the forest
                        Burns.
But unlike you ,
          I can't resist fire...
                                I'm afraid of it

My heart was a mountain
So glorious and mighty
Towering above the clouds
Majestic and beautiful-
At least
That's what it used to be.
The wind and the water
Came along one day
Began to weather and wear it down
Slowly my heart was diminishing
As it eroded
And traveled elsewhere.
No longer majestic
No longer mighty
My heart is now only a hill.

~
he who is a little ahead of his time
whose treasures of the words random
romanticism is in the blood, marrow,
his mood is as the autumn clouds

he who has lost his path within path
drowning with dreams, sunk you within dreams  
again holds thousands of lost dreams
fly the colorful kites in the blue sky

he who hide within himself
**** in his naked poetry
In forms humorous,harmonic  
as a portrait of the Vincent's starry night

he is a pilgrim who has lost himself within spirituality  
holds everything with the love  
who is for everybody so everybody is for him
But in fact there is nothing in all his

he who is simple straight as the waterfall
when in complex grew hard stone
who broke rules for building rules,
knows himself within the other life

whose words never be end
again he moves on and on
who laughs in the moonlight
again swept in pain without thinking any gain

who looks the life
as a grain of sand
and see the sign of love
in the footprint of a fossil

he who is a poet -
~