Listen, it's a beautiful thing
when distilled to its essence;
reduced to its purest form.
A paradox and a paradigm;
a paragon of perfection.
Epic in its arythmetic
progression; poetic.
Like Chinese arithmetic,
so hard it hurts. Yet soft
and exquisite, like a bubble
of love caught in a beating heart.
That place where poetry starts.

can i give thanks
any impossible way
for wholly grace?

You, whose soul
beats in every heart
in every poem

futile words flail
their feeble reach
to grasp your beauty

a simple man
whose simple thought
cannot encompass Your All;

i am alive
because Spirit of Life
breathes within me

may that simple life
be fully spent
exalting Your glory.

Returning from a
walk impossible last week;
grateful for my breath.

As a youth I chugged
life with open throat; now each
day a precious sip.

Great Spirit, I'm too tired to offer prayer,
too worn to ask for grace or strength divine,
so I must trust that You will still be there.

I speak far less; some think that I don't care,
it's more that I cannot abide to whine.
Great Spirit, I'm too tired to offer prayer.

My friends have precious little left to share,
no muttered reassurance all is fine,
so I must trust that You will still be there.

I sit at night beside her empty chair
with sleepless memories to fill my mind.
Great Spirit, I'm too tired to offer prayer.

Her footsteps echoes hanging in thin air
remind me of lost chances and lost time,
so I must trust that You will still be there.

My silence does not leave me unaware;
what words are left when one is left behind?
Great Spirit, I'm too tired to offer prayer,
so I must trust that You will still be there.

Naked, moaning softly, bathed in sweat,
jaw agape and panting. Such a sight;
a perfect beauty I'll not soon forget.

Charming evening's prelude to a night
where passion grinds your voice to feral growl,
jaw agape and panting.  Such a sight.

The gentle purring now belies the howl
from shattering release that takes you whole
where passion grinds your voice to feral growl.

Your strong yet silken legs enfold my soul,
as you recover life from petite mort,
from shattering release that takes you whole.

No need to contemplate what's still in store,
I'll hold this waking dream until we sleep
as you recover life from petite mort.

Tomorrow's work and worries all will keep,
I'll hold this waking dream until I sleep.
Naked, moaning softly, bathed in sweat,
a perfect beauty I'll not soon forget.

I stepped on my rose-
tinted hippie shades looking
for my gratitude.