Is to die to yourself
Be born of a soul
Live in these words
And never be quite whole

Just an opportunity
To fill an expanse
Never pass it up
Take every chance

I love you, I do.
I have waited a lifetime
just to call you mine.

The
distorted
feather of
cigarette
                 smoke
                                         trails
                              upwards.
             It dances
                                    on the
                                             first
                       wisp of wind;
escaping
                 the draw
                                 of cracked
                weasened
lips.
Lips
formed of
                                      withered apple skin
                                                         and stale coffee;
                                            of puckered
                         mouth
              and deep
inhales.
                             Hunched shivering
                                                       shoulders hoist a
                                                                                            shaky hand
                                                                                          toward the
                                                                                    face.
                                                A raspy exhale releases
                        another puff of smoky breath.
The icy air exaggerates
the capacity of old
and tiring lungs.

I foresee this rarely preempted fate.


I quit!

Real heroes don't call themselves heroes.
Real heroes silently serve.

Soul
like the moon,
wax and wane
thy heartful tune.
Mind
like the sea,
ebb and flow
thy poetry.