It has no color, yet it embraces them all, so it is black.
It has no size, yet it does the monstrous, in an attack.
It is not passive, yet massive aggressive, watch your back.
It has no peace, yet it wants the peace on your mind,

Yet there is nothing else to do
Or say
Done, moving on killed that topic
All agreed?

Not Dark,
Not Light,
                 midnight
Not Friend,
Not Foe,
                after...?

they may stop it all,
or make the price you,
pay so very high,
more expensive,
than a litre or gallon
of gas.

On your ***,
they will dump,
you, no not the
donkey kind,
they want to
take it all
from your mind.

Remember the sun that goes down,
rises morning after,
Remember that affection can go
further than affectation,
Remember that richness, tasted, drank,
read or breathed and lightly held,
make up the poetry of life.

Not all that other stuff.

small child crying in the street,
who is there to greet and show love,
out of the midday sun
old couple holding hands as they have
more years behind
than they do months ahead,
as the sun sets and they sit on a bench,
lonely ******* a street corner, watched
by her ****, she shivers as men in machines
race by,
just left their warm beds and wives before
the suns rise
to greet the day,
significance,
each moment,
each breath,
each sight,
each person
defines the significance,
you are.

Try to move faster than your feet can carry,
Do come along dear do not tarry, but be wary,
Push yourself harder faster, stop and I'll bury,
you.

Pace of life, balance all or balance none,
Do come along dear do not fall, no prize to be won,
Let me push you till you drop, sleep is no fun,
with out peace...

And quiet your squealing, verbal chaos marks your despair,
Do come along dear, peeling your clothes off to catch a gasp of air,
Just go to the edge and let gravity carry you, with out care,
a rush, the fall.

The worst part is landing, lonely and alone.
Do come along dear you still have me
and my black heart,
I won't catch you as you fall, get running,
cause I play chase real well,
can't you tell?

Poems about me may be therapy,
Poems about you may mean I love you,
(even if we have not met face to face)
there is so little poetry
that the will in me is to write more,
about poetic things for sure,
so in 2015, I will leave myself out
more often,
                    than in any year before,
let me diminish so the prose will grow,
let me become invisible when the time is rhyme
for the picking,
and if this writer does err,
and if this poet is still there,
where he does not belong,
among his own words,
                                         share him among your friends,
                                         because truthfully he is not alone,
                                          in this prescription write, right?

Time to get honest,
salmon pink stucco walls,
see through the reflection,
white window framed images,
of this silhouette and a Christmas tree,
refracted lights truthfully adorn,
what the four eyes see, honestly.

Each step a chaotic stride,
takes years of practice,
that rhythm,
Changes as we grow into our frames
takes miles of movement,
that motion,
Walking become faster and to running,
arms pumping, lungs bursting
oh what fun,
To taste the effort, stay the course
getting faster, longer lasting
nuances hidden,
Improvements that only you notice
slowly, until one day, it is plain,
your finesse,

goes beyond running.

Don't have money
or I would send it,
but there would
never
be enough,
Driving takes days
that aren't mine,
but I
will run if it takes years,

May                                      tears.
       smiles                    your
                 wash away

The fight you face is real,
ugly and mean,
Coming out on top is not
easy or clean,
Or even a guarantee,
hope to be the friend,
however this ends,
to always let you know,
you are loved.
                        I will let my love show,
                        being by your side in the thick of this fight.

discarded belongings, don't long to be under the trees
                                                 among the dead leaves,
a suitcase, a blow up mattress wrapped in plastic
                 does sleep happen here, how domestic?
There is no place,
watch where you walk, needles and not from the cedar trees,
anything you like under the trees?,
by the babbling creek who has heard, more stories that
float among the shallow pools, until the rain tests the truth and
the lies bob and float away,
under the trees tales have been told,
that get caught in the low hanging
branches, and
the smoky clouds that are lifted with the voices,
get in amongst the cedar tree arms,
and just hang there, ghosts of the past,
dead end relationships,
drug deal, something to steal,
was that a scream?
or did the caretaker of the underbrush
have a bad dream? There is no place like
this, but it happens so often this way.

"Pumphouse, bus stop, hospital and a high school,
Tim Horton's so close that you could...walk right
there, crossing traffic being bullys on the boulevard,
Dairy Queen, rehab centres and a place that takes
...well crazies off the street, and a place that sells
flowers and plants, look at all the amenities that are
close at hand."

"Hey, roll up the rim is here, you can win twice,
can you spare enough change for a coffee mate?, here,
I 'll even show you to the head of the line, I would hold
the door open for ya' but the place is under renovation,
you know, coffee to go from the mobile restaurant"

Trapped in a rectangle of glass,
Get out while you can, but you say,
All of this would have to be left behind.

Caught up in a butterscotch coloured liquid in a half-empty glass,
Escape while you can, but you say nothing, as a drowning person moves
their lips and only bubbles, of air escape, not words are left behind.

Encased in flesh, shaped with bone and muscle reflected in the mirrored glass, there
is no leaving until all your sand has run out of the timer, but you say, your days
are numbered, when the last grain has dropped, you don't want to be left behind.

Transparent as glass,
He has seen it all,
But you say,
A Life misspent,
Oh but it is now left behind,
A Stand-In died, freely,
Now your Heaven bound.
.

one letter at a time, take
one sound, no mime, make
one word, a play on, no mistake
one muse, ha ha,
no refusal, sounds become a litter
of letters in piles of clothing on
a poets floor, imagine not the
sounds of laughter, but of verse
of rhyme of prose as one discovers
the other has toes and the sounds that
ensue, freely leading to a complete poeme.
The alphabet approach.

the air falls and lifts,
contained in the wind,
there is no warmth tonight,
it reminds me...
of another time
of another place
when all the world fell and was lifted
swept up in the winds of war,
there was no warmth
but the drops both clear and opaque
a drop of time and drops of tears
drops of blood and many fears
do not look to the past,
be a student of history, lesson learned,
look to the East, for there stands
a selfish beast, pounding with clay fists
his fake chest, so armed to the teeth,
ready to spit bullets to spell P E A C E
so the orchestra plays
the piece conducted by a man, put in
charge,                                                      ­         too bad he reads the times as
                                                              ­             well as he does english,
the cast of our play
has been selected,
they all know their lines,
the music has been chosen,
the ground is still frozen
like some hearts,
and the audience who has not paid the
price of those it is about, is watching
the ochestra pit, where a verbal fight
has broken out, just the way the conductor
knew it would,
his baton beats, the air as it falls and lifts,
to contain the wind,
he smiles, as those watching hold their breath
wondering, what he will do next...



©DWE032014

Rain drop
                  falling
                   sends sonar
                    signals out
                  calling,
                               for any sign of life
the few, are many
                       drops
                   falling
                    calling
                      to know that they are not
alone.
                      Ring
                       signals
                      go out from the splash,
there is no drought
                        about these parts,
   there is no pout,
                                  on faces of the
dropletsfor their cloud mother,
                                  lets them
                                   all by and by,
releasing each one
                           until
                            she is done, which
                          lifts
her, lets her drift
                        with the wind.        


DWE012014

Not the year, but still a number
After thirty days feel numb...er,
sixteen sixty seven,
average words in one day,
times
thirty days, a month of
writing
November,
National
in other words
NaNoWriMo,
cousin of
Na PoWri Mo, in April
twins
of different mothers of intervention.

Abandon me to my room,
let me bleed words to my doom,
a story of fantasy,
don't have to leave the country,                          
to escape from my mundane,
                               crypt of chaos,
it may be the death of me,
but not until I write
fifty thousand plus words, see?

Nov 1 2013 to Nov 30 2013

Not about nations,
Not a melting ***,
Not multicultural,
Not about people,
    About a person.

All colour can be found in,
The absence of light akin,
to the black, the dark and the fear,
yes, the dark and
the fear.

Not just any dark, but the darkest.

They are separate
yet
found together,
Add wind and foul weather
and the
light just lets you see
the storm coming,
to play with your mind...a field of play?

So where is this going?
It is dark so you tell me.
There is light where you
are, but not around here,
not in this body,
even the thumbs
are black and have their
own pulse,
racing to leave for the light,
in the absence of,
where all colour is black.

Lose track of a loved one and you fear the worst,
the dark thoughts like water find the easiest path.
                                                           ­                            .
                                                               ­                        .
                                                               ­                        ....down,

All colour is black and the absence
of light is the dark, different roots
same result, especially in the corner
of a dark mind where the space is
painted with a fresh coat of black.

Just oozing,
sick of losing,
by fading lighter,
less black, less dark,
.......................leaves room for hope, more or less...

come walk below the blue, and white clouded sky,
let the web of our fingers touching answer, why....

lets make new soulful meaning to that old word called love,
lets open the cage of hearts and let loose, let fly the dove.

Of peace.
Of Muses.

lets take naiveté, be it our undoing, and roll with it in the dirt,
come take ours shirts off and heal the scars that once hurt,

lets find a healing sun, laugh have fun, leave the world in its' place,
pull the heads of the tall grass, bring our lips to touch the other's face.

In the distance.
Our only resistance.

For we will never touch, except with words.
how empty and hurtful, if they are not kind and land like birds.
Lightly.

make a big deal out of no deal,
stand still, life of a spinning wheel,
strands of fiber bind u.s. together.
united by the process stated and
our heritage is a product of the lessor,
from this day forth, or Fourth,
of the seventh or the Seventh Amendment,
so who has 20 bucks?
I am lookin' for 6 or 314 million jurors, (Americans need only apply)
If you were all talkin'
and if'n they would listen,
till the sweat glistens on their brows,
in that dawns early light,
I betcha they might not get it right
but here is to hopin' your open
the next time I...write a poem.

Ten years at a thousand hours each,
                        and I am a Master,
                        of what I have achieved,
am I an Artisan,
who has designed much and created much beauty but never seen the same in others,
                                                     am I a published Writer,
                                                     who has only imagined lives instead of lived them,
                                                           ­             am I a Journeyman,
                                                     ­                   who has not traveled beyond a skill set,
                      

all, late and
too realize,
no one person can do it all alone, as much as each thinks they have done.
For every Master
Artisan
           Writer
                    and Journeyman
who has gone on before, has given to you of themselves
what you thought you possessed alone.


©DWE102013

after all
this year
has brought
I ought
to have
found a
nugget of
valued wisdom,
but it
is simply
this easy,
write, write,
care not
what is
your method
or verse,
or essay,
or even
if you
must rehearse
and purse
your lips
and kiss
your prose
good night!
just write,
write, write
and things
will work
out well
and life
will be
all right!
After...all

signed the
naive but
prolific one.

riches? what are those,
I am the owner of the ugly toes,
gain? what is that,
I have lost twenty five pounds,
mostly fat,
peace? of mind
I have turmoil that eats at me so,
to fill that void,
I drink tea,
after a day of coffee and H2O,
I DRINK TEA
so ...
join me in a intercontinental
tea break, everynight at this time,
we can be friends in the sublime
and the surreal,
TEA APPEAL.


©DWE022014

While you sleep, I am awake, I sit at the foot of your bed and I stand guard,
Believe me
                      it is difficult to ward off the imps that chase you far and hard,
To me it appears you are asleep, yet you toss, you turn, whimper and startle,
I hear your groans and I drop my head, I may look defeated, but I am just in prayer,
I can't stop those mares who stamp at night,
                                                          ­                           bridled rein in the hand of a dark heart,
They rest in the daylight when you are not able to stop or go slow, but hark,
they come calling as the sun is low and you are a feather falling lightly, oh that stark,
reality is they are waiting for you land like a rock,
you always do hope for a soft one on a blanket in a park,
but I know concrete slab and cold steel greet you and
                                                             ­                                         the shadows take aim and mark,
your journey this night, the scars don't show by mornings light, yet the drains tap,
into your energy, and I can only watch, no weapon in my hand, no tear from my eye,
will ease the battle, so I pray and I pray to remind me to pray,
                                                           ­                                                          as you alone enter the fray,
defenceless, against the assault, we know there is no fault,
                                                                ­                                                    or if you were to give in and stay
until the dreams ran out,
of their hold, that heartless vice that turns and won't
let go of your beautiful fertile imaginative mind, vulnerable
                                                      ­                                                            and alone.  I am beside you and
yet I wait, to comfort, with only a word that I am near,
you are not alone, "I am here", night watching.

No Snow Arriving                for Christmas
New Snow Aging                   now raining
Now Slowly Abandon             draining away
Next Season Awaits.





©DWE122013

there was a friend, got to the point
at every end, first name, Barb
                     last name, Wire,
she was plain as could be,
not many close friends, you see?
she entertained change,
went a little strange, got different
changed her look and
her first name, still, to her shame,
she did not gain any friends, she would
coil and recoil and actually worked best
under t e n s i o n,
she had a penchant for sharp cutting remarks,
her last name as always was, Wire
oh, sorry to finish
the story, her fetching
new name was,          * Rusty Razor*

Why'er you looking at your screen that way?
Step closer, look closer, Rusty is waiting...

He calls,
words fall,
on ears that,
don't believe,
what his lips say,
and they have heard
it all, again and again and

now this.

won't give him credit,
won't say he was raised wrong,
not my call, he made that effort
gave a name and an age,
they could not trace him
to any place, he was going
to commit a kidnap crime,
unless they stop him in time.

I call him a creeper he knows his victim,
knows her face,
her age,
her place,
so the police put it out there everywhere,
after all they think he lives in New West
while my thoughts roll, could be anywhere
in the GVRD, remember they could not trace
his call.

emotional  eating
to fill the w h o l e
of unfed expectations

that eat away at
the soul, so fully
that it takes anger

to get back on track
hope that is not a train
comin' my way

complacency, or lack of will,
"take a pill"
to get you to the same place

destined for failure
don't let life railroad ya'
work IT out, just a little
each day
age doesn't count
you matter... most.

The hard voices from soft people.
The soft rumble from hard vehicles.
Watered down by the rain.

Ruffled leaves, the dead remnant out of the horizontal, sticking.
The wind bends the barren tall trees out of vertical, time is ticking.
By.

Curled like a baby safe from harm,
He carry's his shoes up in his arms,

yet his short cropped hair and uncovered head
are soaked by the rain and he stops to give a shake,

after he points his finger and speaks to the apparition,
as drugs drift through his blood, and find his nerve
endings.

But his soaking socks wet from the sidewalk awash slap
in the the rain, are what attract the eye from across
the boulevard, one hund-
red one feet or more

away

it is plain,
he is having a bad day, which seems normal for him, for even the
telephone pole talks back, some insane day beginning.

To another long night.

doesn't add up,
curves and lines,
      by design,
systems with
formulae,
by the way,
you count for more than all numbers
you can add or multiply,
together, if you subtract you from me,
then divide, I am nothing without you,
if my number was up,
and you could go on,...without me
your number would be,
anything but zero,
nothing would make me happier,
if you alone became great, in the
absence of my "feel like a number",
stereotype
but you can still count on me,
to be the lowest common denominator, as
you number me among your peers,
and
hold my
hand to
keep me
warm.
Don't count
me out,
of the equation...

she grates like a one of rusty metal,
and that is the voice I hear in my dreams,

water spill, pour, cascade from the flood,
there are more cracks in my dam life,

a community, safe and secure behind a,
welcome not; just the faces next door,
why not your whole neighbourhood,

over the fence under the fence or use the,
don't trespass in word or indeed,

Open your gates dear heart,
open your gates as to give
and receive,
open your gates to come in and
open your gates to go out exploring
the world in wonder, you drink with your
eyes and spill onto paper in inky words.

Open your gates so I can see a place I never knew,
Open your gates so dear heart, so I can rest with you,
That subtle curve, a smoky smile almost hidden,
then, ...
then you did open your gate. I was not dreaming...all this time.


©DWE072013

Time will compress,
Maybe even your spine,
Counting and taking discs
Like they were poker chips,
A gamble,
A game
A gout,
For adversity,
Are you all in?
Time is not waiting,
Life is passing you by,
Money is falling about the place,
While your, deer in the head lights, face,
Just grows older,
Life will end shortly,
Money will live on without you,
So what, do you surrender as legal tender,
With your last breath,
Surrender your relationships for a short while,
Surrender your love and loves, for a large vessel of agape
Surrender with arms wide open, to receive an Embrace!
...shortly...

I have a dream, oh sleep
A dream I have dreamed,
times many, and woken from.
There is a a song,  a softly orchestrated
piece, playing so I hear, neither near or far,
as I walk in a concrete world.

The grass is dry and the sun is high,
the wind gusts and blows sand in my eyes,
but I hear the music and walk that way,
hoping the direction is right, I pray.

Above me is the sun and a light blue sky,
the sun is hidden by elevated highways,
the traffic is high above, I know but I
cannot see a single car or truck or large transport,
The music that haunting music fills the air enough to
be heard to be carried, but not found.

I walk, and stop to listen,
but it does not help, yet I
walk, drawn in the direction,
which will give me relief,
one, from the sun and
two, find the music soon!

There are no homes in sight,
just when I think that one
comes into view, at the end
of a desolate cul-de-sac, the
only house anywhere I have seen.

I have wandered for hours or days
it seems.  The waves of mirage and
the salty sweat in my eyes, prove the
heat and meet me in my discomfort.

As I close in on the house, the faded white
is still bright in the reflected light of the
Sun.  The music grows in strength as I weaken
in resolve and become like the tumbling and
bending grass I see all around me.
Dehydrated enough to break.

The door is closed and windows, are cracked
but intact and the sound draws me to the house,
which I will not call a home, it seems to get louder
when I turn around to face, but still I doubt.
I walk around the place touching the pickets
on the fence as I go.

I get to the place in the fence with a broken gate and as I
open the gate cries out or I try climb over the
white picket fence, I AWAKE! Lifted from that dozy state.

I am no bard, as hard as that is to accept;
I to this date cannot hum or plunk the tune
on any instrument, I do not know from where
it came or to where it went.
It just haunts me, waking or drifting on a sleepy raft,
okay I'll stop
before I creep you out!

No challenge,
you can't manage,
No sphere,
you can't influence,
No season,
you won't want,
but one that leaves fall, on you and your discontent,
you want, but won't
enjoy flakes, whether they fall on you from the sky or accost you in the street,
you won't, but the want
of not getting malled(not mauled),
while you shop till you drop, and to be revived by mulled wine,(or is it whine)
the days are shorter,
sunlight is on back order,
nights as dark as Mordor itself,
days as short as a short story,
and takes as long as that to read,
but observe, observe
you won't miss a thing,
take it out to the world,
where the details is king,
devilish eh?,
write it down what you see,
then describe it so when we read,
you will not have been alone,
we were with you all along,
you won't,
I know,
like this
you won't.


©DWE122013

the sky this night is
too far too dark,
away,
to be reached and drag-
ged down about
to cover
with some comfort
the bite, the deep bite.

the softness to be
heard as the voice
whispers on the wind
a song sweetly
too far to
be salve to
the bitter poison
in that bite.

cannot be dragged
from here as
weak and would wreak
havoc and too close
to what ills spill
and too far from
the good for what ails
the empty wind
and torn sails

with too far to sail
for the shore
for a quiet bay
for eyes that look
gently upon this salty face

too far out to sea,
never learned how to float
waves now hide the boat
...and the sharks are closing in

we were like two out of round wheels, on a three wheeled death machine,
we wobbled through our teens years, you with a record collection,
me with my military zeal, and the cadet life appealed to me,
you went to Washington State University
I joined the Canadian Armed Forces

We would cross paths not swords, from time to time, which no longer go slowly
We would say with words, but seldom heard what the other had said, eh?

The canyons of time has a sense of humour, and a better sense of live long and get grey hair,
the distance between us after three point six decades is less than twenty minutes by car
yeah, we connect on the usual social media, and we laugh, we cry, we like each others status
the wharf our boats bob at is like an aged lattice work and no cost for the mooring rights, it is gratis

glad you are doing well, you still have that bite in your words when you type
and your record collection is the largest and is well worth the hype
but the times and what we had may never be the same as the past,
I am no longer soldiering and you still are a friend, once for all and at last.

empty fields filled with noise,
echoes of the past misted voices,
desolate landscapes hide still life,
left behind like unwanted dolls
each one hurt then mortally harmed,
why are only loved ones alarmed,
fathers not given a chance,
                                               to protect
                                               or sacrifice a life,
mothers not given a chance,
                                                 to stand up
                                                 with all of the love,
                                                  and their own life,
sisters and brothers and all the others,
                                                 to reject en masse,
                                                  against diminished worth,
each victim, born by birth, like you,
each and everyone, now, in the arms of the Son,
if there was a drop of mercy for every fallen tear,
even with all of that, there is anger and there is fear,
and questions that scream from the heart where,
lifelong pain is the thief, that steals parts of those
who remain,
in pain
and disbelief,
that it happened to someone they knew,
that it happened ever at all,
that it will happen again.

Where goodbye, was...

And again. Happen.

That love could not save them all
from these acts that took them away.
Undeserved death.
By men who aren't men,
Or by a coward dressed as a man.

Once the news floods in
and
the spinning begins, and
never ends
never ends never ends
never ends never ends never ends
heaps of hearts lie cut on broken dreams,
sleep is a dream where a scream
is an alarm that went off too loud, too late, too often.

That won't turn off.
While Peace and Hope are near, and always seem,
out of reach, cause stains and burns like bleach,
come with cost where there is loss and the vibrant
memories,
already begin to fade.

Essential Happiness

laughter, hope,
                peace
                beneath,
                the sunshine,
dance barefoot on grass,
to give to a child.


Simple Pleasures

kiss lightly
        more ecstatic
find comfort
        together
        which
          is
rainbows and peaches
      bluebird moments
             enjoy wonder.


Dare

some believe
           in possibility
some feel,
          know,
            have trust,
          they
                dare do share,
                from no  thing,
only the whisper of a soul.




©DWE122013

There is an apartment that looks over the river,
people tried to cross,
           so much loss,
    the fish had teeth,
they unleashed hate,
surreal,
wild men with wild dogs roamed the banks,
the river swept the people away, but didn't move
someone parted the water one day, in many places
there were tear stained disbelieving faces
                              then one day,
many other people came to play,
they left their apartments over-looking the river,
they came from near and far, they were determined,
they brought machines and cranes and sledge hammers,
they pounded on the river and chipped at the
concrete,
with re-bar
ribs, human muscle tore it down,
machines
built it in place
and the faces
of different men broke the river, they changed
the course,
of history,
the apartment is empty
and fallen, the country is full, humanity flows
through the new
geography, memories
have not been lost
or forgotten, but the choice
emptied the river,
healing began and
sure, real people
helped
to let life flow again

some who impose their will
drill into the media who gobble it
up like it is credibilia,
two bitzcoin for your thoughts?

As far as fair is fair, where is fair,
that wee ones who don't belong,
are taken,
when will this world awaken?
every one
would be be shaken to act,
if in fact they were your children,
every parent
would be heard
to state they are
our children, too
the world's children,
these men (read cowards)
pick on them because they
see them as weak,
the forget they are the future,
when their son's look for wives,
here is to hoping they find none,
don't mind this poet's rant,
as he is out of touch with much,
see the headlines, (read skim)
it is not that I care not,
how to right the social cultural wrong,
how to write so that theses men (read cowards)
play hide an seek with political agendas,
oh they have earned their fifteen minutes
of fame,
shame shame, double shame, here is to publishing
all of your names, in what ever format you end
up as,
see, reading the news or the facts won't
explain this to make me think it was the right thing to do,
but I am a poet out of touch and for me this is the write thing
so to do.

Boko Haram (read cowards),
has done this before if my tired memory
should serve me as they should serve time,
right now your voice sounds like a childs,
are you out of touch with your masculinity?

Out of touch of their
parents arms for hugs,
this tugs,
at any parents heart and mind,
don't be out too late,
out of reach,
out of touch,
who will feed them,
we will need them,
they are the future
             of a generation,
this is a pitiful demonstration,
there is no excuse,
these recluses (read cowards)
who hide behind naked
political stand-offs
running and gunning
with young girl children,
don't tell me to get some
understanding,
because the moon we
all stand under is the same,
               too bad shame,
can't be brought by their
mothers, but maybe these
Boko Haram (read cowards)
don't even respect their own
mothers or the mothers of the
others they have stolen,
they have kidnapped,
they have made as scapegoats,
for their
kingdom
building
exercise,
free the prisoners,
as they are running
short of cowards to
do the camp chores,
they can't even get bullets
to start a war against other men.
When will
this child abuse
be stopped still?

So you can be more out of touch than...

Age, who needs it,
Rage, who feeds it,
Sage, wisdom or
seasoning which is it,
Cage, who has the key?

My mind is still sharp, have we met,
I'm blind, can you agree with me yet,
I am so far behind, I think; you bet,
I am leading the pack.
Life is a grind, espresso or coarsest?

I drink coffee, started when I was thirty-nine,
I don't smoke, I guess I'll (hack)be mighty fine
I starting working out again, to slow the decline,
I would stand up for what's right, if'n I had a spine,
At the end of the day, I will lay and read as I recline...zzzz

I'd turn myself inside out if it would make me happier,
but that might hurt.
I'd walk 800 kilometres if I thought it would bring me peace,
but it would only bring me blisters.
I'd write words on a keyboard,
for you only to keep and hoard,
not because they maybe pretty,
please find me not that petty,
I just wanted to say the things,
to make you smile like joy brings,
You see we really have not met yet
And when we do, and we will, I'll bet,
I won't take back what I gave,
We'll have tea and then wave,

Goodbye,  ; - }
each of us stronger,
I could go on longer,
if you did not guess,
I have to,
own what I don't possess.

the pool, of still water,
you have become,
distresses less,
as rocks are tossed to form rings,
that echo silently across the pool you have become,
winsome waves, echo in not so perfect circles
but even the rocks,
settle
to the bottom,
you no longer ask "who tosses these rocks at me?"
the answer would always be "Life"
bringing strife and stinging tears,
but that is the past,
moments upon moments,
the water droplets in you,
the pool are pulled skyward,
like the daydreams you hold dear and
release,
with out fear,
as clouds roll gently in,
the wind parks them and
soon the rain falls, like healing tears
find their way down to
fill you, the pool again
for another peaceful day,
the wind skims the surface,
dancing across open water,
featherlight
in the moonlight, I
sit staring,
smiling, questions without
answers,
wanting to throw myself,
clothes and all and in the fall,
make a splash then,
soak in that pool, that you have
become,
where I have never been before.
The pool that you, have become