Sitting there in open form…breathing,
savoring a moment that claims the eyes
Collecting thoughts in a simmering row
of pasted visions on the curtains of a smile…
claiming nothing out of the sort

                     ~fingers dance the moonlight
                       along a sleepless trail
                       pecking seems the order
                       as endings never fail~

Glowing like an ember fused,
beneath a mantle trimmed and shorn
Hidden in the lonely darkness
once presented in a cluttered dream
of pine cone cushions
and wicker trimmed French kisses

                    ~words of stained glass meanings
                      in shadows on the pew
                      shaped to form the pattern
                      as light evades the view~

Groans of indecision
plague this page, smudged and weary,
scribble in fury and folded neatly
Edges meet in distracting lines
on crossword clues reaching down
across the face of what I have done

                    ~ink it merely scratches
                      the surface of the night
                      still I sit here staring
                      with nothing left to write~

The free bird leaps
        on the back of the wind
    and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
   in the orange sun rays
     and dares to claim the sky.

       But a bird that stalks
        down his narrow cage
         can seldom see through
          his bars of rage
             his wings are clipped and
               his feet are tied
        so he opens his throat to sing.

                 The caged bird sings
                    with fearful trill
                of the things unknown
                  but longed for still
                and his tune is heard
                  on the distant hill
                 for the caged bird
                 sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

                                                                                       But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
                                                                                        his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
                                                                                    his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
                                                                               so he opens his throat to sing

                                                          The caged bird sings
                                                   with a fearful trill
                                                             of things unknown
                                                       but longed for still
                                                                     and his tune is heard
                                                    on the distant hill
                                                              for the caged bird
                                                             sings of freedom.

your smell still lingers
in the depths of my nostrils
your touch still ever present
in the palm of my hands

but you have moved on
your eyes a glistening black
but you are happy
and that is all that matters

two years later
i still think of the times we had
two years later
i still think of what ifs

to me
you were precious
to me
we were infinite

all is gone
all is said
all is left
all is done

when will we learn
to move on
*when will we learn
to let go?