I know the song within a captured bird,
A melancholy, rhythmic, beating heart
A breathless sound; foreboding in its start
It carries on the wind yet to be heard
An octave high and down; the cage is stirred,
For all who’ve come to rest and soon depart.
The wing is clipped, to some, a work of art.
Within, her captive song is not deterred.

If flight returns and ever lifts the soul;
If morning breaks forever or one day
Her song, relentless in its reaching beat
Arise, it will, to take her on its way.
As feathers fade, the Spring must be consoled
With heaven’s grace, both bird and song will meet.

once, i loved you
so far from me
yet i loved you closely
with all i could be
once, i loved you
from across the sea
you touched my heart
and you set it free
once, i loved you
so far from me
i love you still
not meant to be

Before the rain comes falling
There is a breeze that always blows
And I sense a calm delivery
Buried deep within my soul.

Before the rain comes falling
There is a sound that’s heard within~
A silence of deep stirring.
It crawls under my skin.

And when the rain comes falling
To wash away my pain,
Each drop does quench my endless thirst
So I can begin again.

I will not watch your heart break. I will close my eyes and hold your heart
together with my hands...

i sleep in the middle of the bed now
and wonder if there is no room for you
the space that once was empty in your absence
seems smaller and i wonder
if i need a bigger bed.

what love letters have not been written
and float above the earth
waiting to be born?

what love letters have not been written
and within the silent pen
rages a violent storm?

In an Irish pub last night I met
a man, Ryan Patrick Sheehan.
His eyes were brown, his lips were soft,
his heart was heavy with reason.

To me, he quoted an early Yeats
as if he were Yeats himself.
"The Cold Heaven" danced from his tongue
to rest on my heart's bookshelf.

He spoke of Goethe and Marcel Proust;
two hundred pages that described Combrayan
eye for detail that bordered insane.
he proceeded then to quote Swann's Way.

Of mystery and shadows his silence spoke.
His words, like kisses quite unplanned.
God speed and hope be in your heart
My brief, Ryan Patrick Sheehan.