My clenched fists beat against your chest as I screamed in the night.
You snuffed my thrash, clutched my hands in your own and hugged me tight.
I cried out in agony, angst of life unfair
You stood strong, held me, ran your fingers through my hair
White knuckles still balled up, nails cutting into my palm
Your loving whispers to me soothing my torn heart calm
With my hands firmly pressed close, still between us embraced
You laid pen in my hand for words not to be erased
A treasure among all the loving gifts you give me
Realization of self, found freedom,
MY poetry

Love storybook without ever after end,
yet never ending love.

Love ending never,
yet end after ever without storybook love.

I hear your voices, coming from your heads, like the roaring ocean, as you write your words in waves upon the shore of technological streams.
Your words, ever flowing of emotion and thought, from love and longing to demons and angels. Mused by passion to pain, released from tears to whiskey.
Typed letters like petals of wild flowers in a field on the brink of deep sunset.
No matter who, the yearning, the elated, the cutter, the prophet...all poets singing notes off the tongue in our opera.
The songs, movements and spoken word touch a part of my soul, relating even in the slightest, as we exchange our differences on one grand Broadway.
Tis the most elegant eccentric yet eclectic set beyond the eyes' ability, seen only in a world of our minds.
You, I, we...are here.