I sit with glasses perched
And a steamy cup
With all my consolations
Gathered about
Less of me now
And more of them
All my little pleasures
Acquired over the years
That bring me peace
Beauty and smiles
Pope and puzzles
Almond brush plants
Glass wind chimes
Dickinson and Morrison
Duritz and moonlight
Caffeine and nicotine
Impossible dreams
In my pajamas
Almost comfortable enough
To not miss a single thing

Shattered pieces fall like rain
Drop, and bounce, to fall again
Leaves will shake
Boughs will break
A hero will live; die in vain

The wind will still, and then will blow
A season comes as seasons go
Earth will turn
Love will yearn
'Tis God himself that makes it so.

Furrow no more
Thy weathered brow
O'er times before
Or even now

Play well the part
For which thee were cast
With all your heart
ACT ONE  'til the last

Offer naught a (sigh)
At the curtain's last fall
But smile AND cry
At the end of it all

'Tis not a sep-er-ā-ted place
In the seam of joy and strife
Rather, the most perfected space
That connects a death to life.

As tired is to weary,
Love to in-love be.
As sorrow is to anguish,
Lone....to lonely me.

A fraction,; mill-i-meter,
Minūte; yet.. severe!
There's just but a breath between
Desolate; nadir.

Content with the portion which I gave;
Any more I would have been a slave.
Enough reserved with which to save
myself from the untimely despair;
Just the perfect ration left to spare
To bring myself back round to fair.

How to define the love of soul?
To see beauty in a tear
Decipher the truth from a lie
Spoken solely out of fear
Embrace another's hidden pain
Until all the pain subsides
Recognize a man's courage
While that same man just hides.
To notice what the vision craves
With the chaos all around
Hear the purest melody
Even when there is no sound.  
Forgive the human condition
Ignore parts to see the whole
Silent trembling lips know how
To define the love of soul.

Sleep now, my love.

As the sun rises on my face,
Rest your mind, rest your head.
In that subdued and shuttered place
With that memory -filled bed.
Go be where the angels dwell
And the little children play.
And think not of me, for a spell.
Think naught of me today.

It's just like sluggish raindrops
The way they slowly trickle in
All those memories we had to tuck away
To begin
To begin...again.