Four years and his room is untouched.

I would love it that way

For years!

Stays ***** and span
The memory of my old man.

The southern window side of the bed
Where he laid his head

The eastern window that broke his sleep
With the sun’s first peep

His snapped photos on the wall of west
That ache my chest

On the northern wall the clock
That still of his time talks

His divan forlorn
Resting cold from his last morn

In each bric-a-brac
His touch his track

In ticks and creaks
His memory speaks.

Heavy with time he
turns the stones of memory
as he pans for gold..

Where do I find a poem?
In the space of a blink,
Between heartbeats,
When idle or moving,
With family and friends,
In a cemetary,
At school,
On a beach,
On-line,
On a bench, sitting beside me.
In the four seasons,
Beneath the blue, black and starry canopy,
In the wild, sapian or worldly,
In the arts and prophets,
Crawling on the floor,
When I'm cooking;
And, when I'm not looking,
A poem will find me.

Broken, shattered
Dreams unraveled
Yet new life springs
From empty matter

Bury me
That I might live
A damaged vessel
Is all I give

Bruised and battered
Full of sin
O wretched man
Abiding within

Bitterness watered
By the tears I've cried
Forgive me Lord
For I have tried

Arms outstretched
Mercy tender
For victory now
I must surrender