A writer
is someone with an old soul,
a young heart,
and a timeless mind.

-*D.C.

~

Wildflowers weep
along lonely garden paths
Nectar filled tears
shed on frail petal ridges
run in muted colors
~
Daylight cloaked
behind clouded veils
Darkly hidden as
grey cotton whispers
cry on listless breezes
~
Butterflies sleep
in empty shadows
neath leafless branches
while worried sorrow
stills their fragile wings
~
And this hollow heart
within my breathless chest
lingers in hushed wishes
and silent pleas
*missing you

She lives for the mornings
when all is beginnings
She lives for the evenings
when all is endings

She slogs through her
days
dazed
and
numb
no words rhyme
no lover comes,
her morning songs are sung
in baptismal
daily showers,
her dreams are
strewn in patterns
on curtains
in warm night winds blowing,
she sings again when the
nightbirds
sing.

Her mornings are
hopeful
Her nights are
resolved
Her games are
played at noon.

If she looks you straight in the
eyes
you'll know too soon,
She knows everything about you.

Her words will
come when they are ready,
Her beginnings are short
Her endings are long
like the night

Lady of the morning
Lady of the night
I will be beside you
when you finally decide
to take flight.

Light and darkness
while in her day
she pretends
as
she moves along
in
her own way.