I packed a little box today.
The one of you and I.
And with every item that I placed.
I could not help but cry.
The box was full of memories,
Of all the times we shared.
Times before I had to question,
Whether you even cared.
Some pictures of the two of us,
Somes poems wrote long ago,
Some movie stubs and jewelry,
Are all thats left to show....
That for a moment I had loved,
And that I was loved by you,
But if forever has now ended,
Then there's nothing left to do...
But pack our little box away,
To store momentos of our years,
I held it close up to my heart,
Then sealed it with my tears.

I have often wondered the purpose,
Of the people which I've met.
Why there are some I can barely remember,
And some I can't forget.
Perhaps it's God himself at work,
By way of these, to plant a seed,
A seed that will grow strong enough,
To meet another's need.
No matter how short the span we had,
No matter how small my part,
Could it be I held a purpose for,
The occasion of your heart?
Were you meant to be my teacher,
Of the lesson so well-taught,
When you seek the truth and find it,
It won't ever be forgot.
And who am I to question,
Just why things have to be,
Or what lies in another's soul,
That stops it being free?
But I will share what I do know,
Whether we rise or fall,
We can be sure that *time and chance,
Will happen to us all.

My dreams?...Well, they expired years ago.
Dreams have a shelf life too, you know.
Like milk, they can spoil within a day.
Leaving no choice but to throw them away.

Your nothing's always good enough,
But my all just won't suffice.
Once you were a gift to me,
Now I'm your sacrifice.
Yet still I keep on loving you,
Despite inflicted pain,
Believing that maybe my every loss,
Might be your only gain.
That I might be the hoist you need,
At one time or another,
I'd stop my heart so yours could beat,
The instinct of a mother.
But I have recently come to learn,
You must scale your own wall,
And I must stand off to the side,
And just watch you as you fall.
And that's so very hard for me,
But it's the only way you'll grow,
You are going the wrong way again,
But I must let you go.

When all the paths have narrowed, so slight they can't be seen,
And even when turning back around, I can't see where I've been,
And I'm only in the moment, the ticking of each hand,
No past recalled; no future thought, only just where I now stand,
That's when I feel the closest, to the maker of it all,
When I'm reminded how great he is, and that I'm so very small,
And that one day.... there will be no more tears,
That one day.... there will be no pain,
No more darkness, and no more death,
No evil and no rain.
Just because he chose to love me, even when I deserved no love,
And made me fresh and new again, with his spirit from above.
A spirit that now lives in me, and where it leads I'll go,
For the path that is invisible now, the Maker's sure to show.

Once again this morning
You awoke inside my head.
And instead of welcoming you,
I ushered you out instead.
But by noon you had returned,
And again you said, "Good day!"
But I had so very much to do,
I, in haste, sent you away!
By eventide again you came,
"Good evening," was your greet.
And as I finally had the time,
I eagerly took a seat.
And so we talked just you and I,
Of imaginary hours,
That we'd one day spend together,
Under trees, amongst the flowers.
And write each others words,
Two souls, in truth be one,
But then before I knew it,
The day? Well... it was done.
So once again I said goodbye,
And laid down in empty bed,
Hoping dreams would hide that you,
Were only in my head.

Ask of truth an anecdote....
For your sickened tongue is numb,
Unless you swallow fast enough,
You'll remain forever dumb.
Let loose the hon-es-ty you fail,
To hide behind those eyes,
Before I go completely deaf,
From all your silent lies.

I have not known a loveliness,
As yet within my years,
That outlasted its’ predestined day,
Not predisposed to tears.
And I have not known a beauty,
That did not reach it’s prime,
Greatness always turns to ugliness,
If just but given time.
Back and forth, to and fro,
The pendulum swings always,
Good and bad, light and dark,
They each but have their days.

Press your fiber through my soul,
As thread to needle be,
Know that that there is more besides,
Just what the eye can see.

Arm yourself, quite rightly,
As thimble is to thumb.
Save repeated pinpricks,
Make thy mender numb.

A puzzle with just one missing piece, though incomplete can still be fine.
And a sky with one less star tonight, makes brighter those that shine.
Just one or two unripened grapes, surely won't spoil the wine.
So, why is it, that "one drop shy," can't fill this soul of mine?

Oh! Northward wind, born in thy womb,
Lo! Thy soul be wrought and fixed,
Encased within my captors tomb,
Of head and foot betwixt.

Diffusing as vapor through the pores,
When the keeper dulls her eyes,
Soaring to hover over yonder shores,
Reduced, yet swollen it so flies.

Nightly northward, where passion lives,
Where hope of itself be found,
Ah! The glimpse of freedom that it gives,
Less the state of which I'm bound.

Until the morn comes yet again,
And the watchful eye doth wake,
Unaware where thy soul has been,
Or of a yearn no bond can break.

Oh! What strength of thy desire,
Will set thy shackles free?
And if no earthly pow'r transpire,
Soul ..make haste...eternity!

A phrase once given me,
By a friend of poetry,
When I asked ....if he too,
Talked in his head just like I do.
He made me feel much better because,
He replied, "Yeah. Sure. Everyone does."
And so I deemed myself not so insane.
For the "internal dialogue" spoke in my brain.

Nothing can or ever will outshine it,
No novel account, or theatre display,
Not even these words to do justice,
To your perfect passing day.

The stage was set, the actors there,
The director in full control,
Not a single thing was missing,
And each one knew their role.

The backward breathing clock,
Counted down as time stood still,
Alarming at the ticking hands,
Then stopped-by Gods own will.

All hands clasped; all prayers said,
And answered before thy call,
You peacefully slipped away from us,
And mortality took the fall.

The holy spirit - he lingered.
And massaged our hearts in hand.
To ease the pain of a perfect passing,
That was too perfect to understand.

On choosing the right perspective,
Of those that were mine alone,
Your heart became irrelevant,
Mine mirrored what I'd shown.
I fostered hope without a home,
And acceptance replaced doubt.
Then I bore myself a revelation,
One of life and of life without.
And whether you were fairydust,
Or of a constellation unknown,
At the end it never mattered,
I still reaped what I had sown.
"Thank you" is just not in order,
In fact, it'd be quite absurd,
To offer you any gratitude,
For the echoes I have heard.

Oh! to have wasted so many long years,
Bargaining pleasure for pain,
Finding ill solace from evil-made tears,
With nothing to shield the rain.
Begging the world for a peace I so needed,
Only to find it a lie.
Failing to follow; the good book unheeded,
Year after year went by.
Why struggle did I? to accept the truth,
That patiently waited for me,
That Faith, alone, (belief before proof),
Would easily set me free.

When the pale moon recedes; no sun to take it's place,
And darkness hides all tears, now frozen on thy face,
And no cries can be uttered, they only echo in the head,
When all joy turns to sorrow, and hope right into dread,
And light not even remaineth, not even within the soul,
And the wind makes no chime; the bells no longer toll,
When ghosts no longer taunt me, with words I should've said,
Tis' the day I'll admit, my dear, our love is surely dead.

I still feel..... you.
You are still here.
Absence, even prolonged, doesn't remove you.
You have become visceral.
Attached to the inner parts of me.
The vital parts of me.
I still see..... you.
In my peripheral.
Throughout different moments of the day.
When I see something I also want you to see.
And on my inward eye every time I shut my eyes.
You are my vision.
I still hear..... you.
I hear that voice.
When I read, your voice narrates all the words.
I can even hear you smile.
It's as clear as if you were next to me.
It whispers everything I need to hear.
I still dream..... you.
We do it together.
Sharing a narrow path in a wide world.
Believing destiny and faith will guide us right.
To our imagined paradise.
Beneath a tree.
Where our pens, passion, and souls converge.
Where everything will be made clear.

   Spirit.
   Truth.
              Inspiration.
Life.
  Love.

Why worry?
Trouble leaves more in it's wake.
Why grieve?
For death just will another make.
Why rage?
Justice will never be fully paid.
Why fear?
Just a lie your own mind made.
Why surrender?
Tomorrow requires it again.
Why cry?
There's more where those have been.
Why gasp?
To expect is no surprise.
Why ponder?
It only conditions eyes.
Why regret?
It's all but left in tatters.
Why love?
Because it's all that matters.

I will love in full surrender,
And in nakedness be clad,
Expose the all, of all of me,
And in doing so, be glad.
Comprise it all together,
Wholly give and wholly take,
And have not even one regret,
If my heart should break.

Though my love is over,
And fall could cling no more,
I shall enter into winter,
Much warmer than before.
Fire hoarding elements,
Closely in it's store,
Burns beneath the ashes,
Hidden in it's core.

And though my love is over,
And waits on distant shore,
And winter yet again returns,
And likewise, for a score,
And seasons, ever-changing,
And change they do implore,
My heart remains much warmer,
And will forevermore.

Might my words be enlightening, pure of purpose; clean of soil,
May they offer some solace for a pain, or rest from endless toil.
Might they beckon a long hoarded tear, from a long pent up soul,
Or a smile from a widowed heart, who longs to just feel whole.
May they bring peace to the restless one, who wanders all around,
Or gravity to the flighty ones, and gift them with solid ground.
Comfort to an aching core, words like fingers, stroke their hair,
A promise that all things do pass, when today is too much to bear.
A hope shining into the darkness, when all of the lights are out,
Faith, sweet faith, that comes to rescue, one who's full of doubt.
May my words be a lighthouse, for those who've lost their way,
And a reminder that all is possible, if they would only sit and pray,
May my words strike an inner voice, as is now, and always the plan,
To make GOD known and hear his praise, on the lips of every man.

What has escaped you, my dear friend?
Has your passion left you dry?
Or just discovered the next phase of life,
With so many new things to try?

Do you no longer feel the poet's tug,
Of words you can't ignore?
Or have you lost your inspiration,
That was so grand before?

Have you found yourself a happiness,
In a far more peaceful state?
Or has your life become so very busy,
There's no room on your plate?

Was the interval of you (then and now),
Nurtured by your prose?
No matter if you write more or less,
The you inside still grows.

When my heart ceases to beat,
So that I have not lived in vain,
While my whole's no longer here,
I pray some pieces will remain.
In the smile of my daughter,
When she sees a rustic swing,
And the humor of my only son,
And the hope that it can bring.
In laughter of shared memories,
Of all those who really knew,
Just what I truly believed in,
And just what faith can do.
In all the lessons, even hard-learned,
The reward of giving, and of love,
The peace of daffodils I so admire,
The healing power from above.
In tears that are cried , shameless,
With a courage to endure it all,
In the books which I so cherished,
In old photos on the wall.
In the honor of a priceless ring,
And a renewing field of green,
The fruits of a long ago planted tree,
That yields the sweetest tangerine.
In the promise things can always change,
And the possibility to start again,
In every new dawn that now is counted,
As a new story that may begin.
In the hearts, minds, and souls of those,
With the beauty of passion delayed,
The taming of needless restlessness,
And forgiveness of those who betrayed.
In an old and tattered bible,
That was neglected for too long,
That always held the only way,
To make right of any wrong.
In every dream held with iron grip,
And each October's healing wind,
Knowing that things don't have to break,
But that they must, and always,.... bend.
Oh, yes! I hope to leave behind,
Some truth's, that life, to me, has shown,
For those I never had the chance to meet,
And to those I've called my own.

Go ahead... curse me for your failure,
I've heard this all before.
I give and give and give and give,
But you take a little more.
And then you negate all of the effort,
I exhausted in your name,
When you win, you take the credit,
When you lose, I take the blame.
I have never understood just why,
Some "men" stay little boys,
And believe that they are owed,
All kinds of fancy toys.
Without ever having earned them,
Not ever having paid,
And sleep like babies every night,
In beds their mothers made.
Always something for nothing,
Ain't that a pile of ****.
Come on ladies, I think it's time,
To wean them off the ***.

Feel free to run away my pet,
You will return, that I will bet.
Once you're missing the way that I,
Wipe the snot out of your eye,
And pick the fleas off your back,
Wash your paws when they are black,
Rub your belly, kiss your nose,
Allow you to always lick my toes.
I have helped you grow and grow,
What this poem means I only know.
You see my pet, your awful dumb,
And when I called, you didn't come.
So enjoy your freedom for the night,
Don't look here, you'll see no light,
I've turned them off, and have no doubt,
That I'm not here , and you're locked out!!!

Oh! Childhood days, so bright and fair,
When thought did flit without a care,
Every heart I loved , just as my own,
Long before any ill was known.
Spent so reckless, so did enthrall,
Innocence, ignorance, defeated all.
When the spirit knew no atmosphere,
No fence, no range;  and conscience clear.
Fulfilled alone by effort spent,
And outcome was it's own content.
Unaware that time would slow the pace,
Of the hastened soul to present place.
Or that the path of life, and circumstance,
Would steal away the certain chance.
But sometimes, when the rush is done,
And nature and I - we sit as one,
Memory, on haunches, will return,
Of passion's youth for which I yearn.
Whether wind, a glimpse, or forgotten scent,
I feel again the stir of days that went.