In the mind of a poet deep secrets lie dormant, waiting to be revealed
deep in the crevices of the primordial subconscious lie answers to
unasked questions, wordless thoughts, unspoken desires
The poet pours forth a veritable fountain of verbose interludes
choosing each word carefully to project the perfect mood
as a painter paints in hues and shades, the poet paints in words
in verbs and nouns portraying visions of thoughts and feelings
creating a work of art ... a picture can paint a thousand words
But in the mind of a poet  a word can paint a thousand pictures
to choose just the right word to portray just the right emotion
to convey just the right thought - this is the art of the poet
And in the mind of a poet, every word is integral to the whole
every single word is seen as necessary to express the perfect thought
the perfect meaning, the perfect expression of mind and soul
In the mind of the poet, the creator is the creation creating the creator
the poet becomes as a god, creating from darkness and void
Writing into existence with sentences new creations, bringing new life
expressing new visions, new revelations...
In the beginning was the word
And the Word was in the Mind of a Poet.

Mozart fades into Monet,
you are the ivory keys,
piercing the silence,
tangled in echoes of an angel's voice,
awaiting to explode into the
mystery of my colours...


Hushed within a silence,
fading beyond something grey,
always meant to shimmer in sapphire.
Love is never bound to soft silhouette's,
though the fault line is so fragile,
the hush can rupture the ballast,
deteriorate the fingerprints
left, moistened, in an exploration of hands
christened in worship of the journey,
sliding between the hymnal of thighs
scarred in the numbness of quiet bruises,
aching for the press of your needs
to awaken the ache, and kiss the morning
held fresh in my eyes,
with a glance into hunger,
still fresh upon your tongue...



My soul rests within the ebony shadows,
straddling your fingers, as they
pound the song from your heartbeat
descending into a crescendo of requiems divertimento,
unraveling all of these unspoken words,
in soft whispers of your embrace

Curve the edge of my thirst
in that place where the heart stills,
that place, where the pulse quickens
so deep inside the quiet of your benediction
redeem me in the corners of your smile,
and I will paint my love in Monet,
so soft, upon the canvas of this
Mozarts serenade of us

The aftermath, a concerto,
a delicate stroke of crimson
smeared upon the ivory parchment of my skin,
"I love you" etched
beneath the wings of your song,

...I am the unspoken lyrics...

you are the music of my life
fading into the colours

...of love's last breath...