There was a girl whose
smiled was beautiful as spring snow
and just a fleeting.

Her eyes were like
gateways to heavens
I no longer know if I believe in.

Her voice summoned
this once dead heart
back to life.

And if I was a better man
I could have spent a lifetime
painting her with my words.

Though a man like me
knows  it is better to leave
happy endings for fairy tales.

I want to feel the soft embrace of a lover
on a lazy Sunday morning
clothed only in shattered sunlight.

To inhale deeply and exhale slowly,
beneath a summer sun
after a long winter.

I want to sleep like a child
after playing make-believe
under the oak tree with the tire swing.

To pray in the chapel
asking God to forgive us
for missing this moment.

I want to laugh again
and forget about tomorrow
and even yesterday.

To teach this heart
how to love again
and accept love in return.

I want a consuming passion
like a spring wildfire
completely engulfed

To be freed
in the morning breeze
lost in the hope of absolution.

Into the dark I walk
with an armful of broken promises
and of armful of empty bottles.
Waded down only by a backpack
packed tight with regret.

It is easy to fall in love
with a certain kind of darkness
so I keep walking
pertaining stories like mine
can have a happy ending.

This earth is not forgiven
she does not forget,
perhaps it is better to leave
my heart where I left it
and keep walking into the dark.

November sits dying
as I write of a summer love
long since faded away.


As I form with my words
of a time long since passed
autumn blends into winter.


My new affection sits waiting
as I scribe words of courage
yet November sits dying.


The frost gently grasp my body
as I wonder if I am worthy of the
redemption this love could bring.


Yet what do I know of love
so I let you love another
as November sits dying.

I went high in mountains
Calling god from the peaks
Screaming to the void
Yet I heard nothing but wind.

I went to the temple
Praying on my knees
Seeking him in alter
Trying to find his name.

In the city I sought
Our lord in the face of
The beggar who knows
him better than me.

But when I found him
He dwelled not in temples
Or mountains tops
But only within me.

And so at last October dies
On the last breathe of
Crisp autumn air
That lingers in the morning.

On the exhale
November is born
Out of the frozen ground
And fallen leaves.

The months bring us
Further away from summer love,
Born half way between
Rainy days and midnight walks.

Yet the cool that comes
With the night
Has not dulled the warmth
We made under the sheets.

Maybe all love is doomed to die
But soon the winds of December
Will visit our chambers and winter
Is too long to bear alone.

So lets us name each other love
Beside the fire, under the blankets
Until the warmth of faded summer
Return once more.