Today Is A Quiet Pallette Of Blue Which, In Fact,
Sits Secluded From Every Yellow, Pink, And Red,
It Is Cold And Quiet--Idle As An Afternoon Rain,
Lethargic And Angry, Hard Yet So.. So Silent...

Today Is A Blue Day, It Is Bluer Than My Very Soul,
It Is A Blue Tuesday, Darker Than A Saturday Night,
The Sky Is As Gray As The Sea, But It Is Twinkling,
The Notes It Sings Turquoise As Tropic Waters

Today Is A Soft Baby Blue, Contorted By A Tough Navy,
A Harsh Golden Sunrise Has Turned To A Gray,
The Mush Colored Sky Is Tamer For The Blue Eye,
And The Blue Eye, Is A Window To A Blue Heart

Cast your wishes to the wind
Launch your desires to the sea
Throw your emotions to the ocean
Set your most intimate aspects free
Most of all, leave your secrets safe from me
Baby, I'm an anchor
rusted steel exposed to the seaward breeze
aching to race from the sun to the darkest depths
pulling you under in my selfish plummet
there's no escaping the salty abyss I'm rushing towards
You see the bottom suits me, beautifully
perhaps for the bottom is nothing new to me
dwelling out of touch from the sun's rays
never yearning for the warmth of another to rouse me from the darkness
for perhaps the bottom was always meant to be home
rusted steel set perfectly in the moondust sand of an ocean's farthest depths
so cast your wishes to the wind, never tied to the chains linked to me
Baby, I'm an anchor
I was never meant to be
soaring in the winds, together with you set free...

The wailing winds sear their caress in my memory
The cold of an eastern Pennsylvanian winter
Stinging yet rejuvenating, surrounded by ubiquitous gusts
This place is sacred, this hallowed ground
My toes rocking on top of the semi frozen hillside
Staring out across a chain or rolling hills and deciduous forests
Trees packed so densely together I see only one ever extending canopy of leaves
Seamlessly shifting colors as if on a whim
I feel small in this moment
Amidst the grand expanse of nature that has humbled my soul
The mist and lingering breath pouring from the nose of a horse tamed yet yearning for the open pasture
The clouds that soak up the pinks and blues of a setting sun
The wailing winds seared into my memory
I am home I am home.

A romantic believes in six senses
Taste, touch, hearing, sight, and smell
So they know the smell of a rose
And touch, a warmth in the cold
Hearing, a voice soothing in any pitch
Taste, a kiss
Sight, a beauty that may just last the ages
All of these can be between any two and perish at the end of one
But the sixth is not physical
It is not *** but passion
Not human but soul
Not relationship but transcending
It is not borrowed or bought or born but found
It is love existing and unexplainable
There at once and always
Beyond mere ashes and dust

To write is to be free
Free from the restrictions
Handed to me
In a booklet that reads
**Life