She's somewhere far away
sitting on her porch
watching the sun sinking behind the church tower
alone
breathing the warm air
as another day of her life
is going to an end.
80 years and no smile wrinkles on her cheeks
her forehead still a history book
where lines of war and struggle
are deeply written.

Her eyes full of colour,
her heart
a room where hope and sorrow
constantly fight against each other.

Her voice, a joy to hear
though it saddens me
knowing that she goes to sleep as the sun does—
lonely, in a dark, quiet infinity

His Tiny hands holding mine
His Tiny feet  padding across the hardwood floor
His Tiny arms reaching up for me to pick him up
His tiny head laying on my chest while he falls asleep
His sweet laughs when I tickle him
Hell only be little for a little while
But he’ll always be my baby
I just hope that
My hands keep his warm
In my footsteps he will be proud to follow
In my arms he finds comfort and protection
That he'll remember my laugh whenever I’m gone
He’s only little for a little while
My love he will always carry.

I drive for the journey
Not the destination
What is the hurry?
We are all going to the same place anyway

Enjoy the ride, my friends.
See you when we get there

I pick dandelions
in the early spring
when I think of you
She loves me . . .

I cut the rose blooms
in the summer morn
And I am pricked
by the remembrance of you

I walk in the autumn gold
as I shuffle with the agony
of the memory
Yes I do

Now in my winter's demise
I wrap the cloth of your smile
around the cold heart's desire
that I once had for you

There will be no dandelions
this spring
No roses this summer
No leaves of autumn's color
Without the smile of you

Somewhere
hidden
in her
soul,

beneath her
veiled words
and the glances she stole,
was a story left to unfold.
A desire to be noticed,
A desire to be admired.
As if her presence
was dripping in
molten gold.

Our love
is the light of
limitless-nothingness.
And
that's the eternal truth
my love.

© Kishamore