A happy home
An untroubled life
A port in a storm
Away from strife
A healthy body
An untroubled mind
A touch of skin
A love to find
A friend to trust
A lover who'll give
A moment in time
A Life to Live

Beware those who judge, lest you be judged! Who hasn't been judged by the tattoos on their bodies or the piercings in their skin, by the bike they ride, or the car they drive, or the home they live in, or by their religion or the colour of their skin? But you know what? At the end of the day, those above have laid down their head and slept well, not judging the rest of the world... May we all sleep well at night ;)

I light the gas
put on the kettle
You like tea, don't you?
I'm a coffe person actually
But you like tea
and I'm hopelessly lost
I'm grabbing things
from the refrigerator
left right and centre
What do you eat for breakfast?
I'm inhaling memories
drinking sensation
dining on your touch
not remembering much
Your form of sensual chloroform
is sensational
The kettles boiled
the cups are still empty
your touch on my lower back
is heavenly
I'm not sure
I'm where I need to be
the kitchen you say?
*Shall we?

There is the iron gate.
It’s ornate.
A work of art.
Not really a deterrent to anyone that yearns to be beyond it.
It’s just a gate.
But it’s the start of the journey that will begin at the long driveway that holds us apart.
But it’s just a gate.
It’s pretty but it won’t hold me back.
It’s just another barrier to your heart.

The large mahogany doors that stand closed to me are just that.
Closed
But not for long.
Open for me, I can hear you singing our song
Open!
Bring me into your outer world.
It won’t be long.

The marble foyer is cold.

The chandelier?

Bold!

The emptiness is a blessing in disguise. I know you are watching
I can feel your eyes, upon me, a gentle caress upon my inviting skin.
You don’t fool me,
I can feel your sin.
Please, you invited me in.

The hallway is cold and dark, the cold of the rooms that are left and right of me is stark.
There is no fire burning in these outer rooms. No life for me to wonder about and yet, I’m here, wandering aimlessly in these empty halls, and the echo of my lonely moan is projected back to me on an angry shout.

Where could you be about?

I’m drifting past the library that is filled with your intelligence
And past the solar filled with unearthly blooms that drown me in their fragrance
But there is no other sign of life
I walk the raw edge of madness upon a finally honed knife
Madness is gladly pressing upon me and its pungent aroma is rife

But I’ll continue to glide toward an essence that is pure
Because it calls out to me.
Waiting.
Wanting.
Listening.
Asking.
Wanting to know that what is coming is sure.

Down barren hallways and steps of stone.
I’ve traveled them all.
I did it alone
Across a landscape that was draped in a colored shroud
I stepped into a chamber that was devoid of all sound.

I’m here

You’re there in front of the fire
Surrounded by nothing, you stare at the flames that reflects back all your ire.
Your mirth, your understanding, your passiveness is greedily eaten by the hungry lick of a relentless flame
But as I glide silently to your side and cast a mercurial look at the hearth, I watch the roaring fire become soothing warmth and know that I have gained your inner sanctum and your life will never be the same.

Douse the fire in the cold hard hearth

*I will forever be your flame

he empties his pockets
at the end of the day
she hates random
pieces of paper
in her washing
cleaning out the lint filter
mumbling to herself
shaking out the snow
of forgotten wishes
from her clean clothes

he can't say

that was the receipt
for the flowers I sent
or the lay by for something
simply fantastic,
regardless of what's spent

so he dutifully empties
his pockets each evening
before leaving
his clothes for cleaning
and then sits silently
holding onto
all of his dreams
from his pocket...
staring at receipts
of his attempt
to please
his woman, his wife
the love of his life

there is no snow
on his clothes
because each night
he remembers
to empty
his pocket
full of dreams
*and hope

he asks me

How are you?

I reply

You know...
same old same,
desolate...
antsy, empty...
and you?

His reply?

Same difference
but I won't complain
I'm breathing and talking
to you

He sits me down
in front of a virtual fireplace
and instructs me through life
leaving just a minuscule trace
of his own footsteps
even though his tread
should be heavier
for the burdens he carries
are colossal against mine

but he takes the time...

To listen to my words
and answer my pleas
He understands
and sees what I don't see

I erred in titling this
my friend
I meant
my Mentor
my Heart~ache, my Hero
my understanding unconsciousness
give, Give, give, never take

I have this friend
who never unanswered
any prayer
if you have an Angel

that you can spare...

Free her wings and let her fly
she knows where she is going
and she knows why
where she needs to be...

tell my friend I sent her

Angel dust and fairy wishes
are what he needs to see :)