This feels so wrong.
Living on a respirator,
healing from love's infection.

I use to have a pulse,
right before the insanity struck.

Thump, thump, my heart sung.
Finding comfort in my own breathing.

Then I saw you...
heard you.
felt you...
and I breathed you in.

My heart skipped in it's beat.
And my breath was gone.

Wrong- is it wrong?
It feels wrong.
Beyond all reason,
I have fallen in love with you.
And I know that
your taste is such a thing-
Such a thing I'd die for...

You're all I've ever wanted.
Now you're all gone.
Thieving my breath
and stealing off into the night.

Even though I love you,
you couldn't wait to leave me.
So, I'll whisper with my last breath,
about how much I miss you.

I can't help but close my eyes
and lay my body back down.
Letting the machines keep me alive.
Till the day you'll be back
to breathe life into me.

I was five when I asked my mother,
while holding a box of crayons,
"What color is me?"
She smiled and explained I was the color yellow;
radiant and life giving.

I grew, and grew, and when I was ten I asked my mother again,
"What color am I?"
She leaned really close.
Looking me up and than down.
"Blue," she spoke.
"The color of the skies and sea's.
Vast in wisdom and deep with honesty."

When I was fifteen
and started to come into myself,
I asked my mother again,
"What color am I this day?"
She looked at me, reading me as if I was  book.
"Red. You are the color red.
Unshakable with passion but uncertain in your strength."  

The year I turned twenty, my life was barely beginning.
I was filled with such trepidation about moving away from my family.
I asked my mother, standing in the threshold of our home,
"What color am I now?"

My mother paused in her answer,
her eyes seeing something I never would or could.
A smile spread on her tired face,

"My darling little girl,"

She spoke touching my cheeks.

"You are the color of the sun, yellow; radiant and life giving.

You are the color of the skies and sea's, blue; vast in wisdom and deep with honesty.

You are the color red; unshakable with passion, and most certain in your strength.

My bright and shining daughter,
you are a rainbow for all to see.

silent verbalist
a poet
at work.

Dream as if you will live forever;
endeavor to rise from the ashes.

Live as if you'll die tomorrow;
devise a plan because there will be
an invariable end.

Tomorrow might rise...
and hell, the world will still be turning,
but tomorrow might not come...
and today was all I had.

I knew I tried my best
and dreamed as if I'd live forever.
and lived as if I'd die tomorrow.

is a poets song heard even in complete obscurity
I feel it must be by fact of its birth
and by fact the poet took the time to craft it
heard by someone else or no, its all the same
a song takes its place in the Universe
and once sung cannot be unsung.

What voice has the Earth
but yours.

We watch, report
Write it out
Then contort
Watchers, poets, writers, scribes
Feel too much
Wrenching, inside
Its our job, not to sleep at night
To think too much
About life's plight
One watcher, will be drawn to another
All akin,
Sisters, brothers, lovers
It's what we are
In ancient times
They called us,
"The Scribes"
Old souls,
We everyone bare
It's a hard business
Not at all fair
But it's our job, chosen or not
To see, to feel,
To "watch" every plot
Our thoughts, can drown us
Or perhaps, heal
But with every action
More is revealed
For we are the "watchers"
With purpose, we live
And with our words written, spoken
'Tis life, we all give