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I heard your heart,
the heart of a young wife,
loving, hoping, trusting,
bearing the shock of scorn
from the one who should have
cherished you, and whom
you wanted to love and respect
as your Lord.

I heard your heart,
abandoned, alone,
unloved by the one who had promised
to care for you always,
the heart of a young mother,
bearing burdens alone
that were made to be shared,
as you reached out to share
joys and fears of raising
precious children,
and finding no resonant heart,
beating with yours
in strength, joy, and pride.

I heard your heart,
when you cried, "Why, Lord?
What have I done?
I will still love and serve him,
for Your sake, but
I was made to be one flesh,
to share everything in Your presence
with the man You gave me.
Did You not give me this man?

Why, Lord, is there only pain,
emptiness and loneliness,
where You meant for there to be
unity of heart and spirit,
friendship, respect, joy,
and love, Your love,
sweet, tender,
unconditional forever?

I have offered him all I have,
all I am. He despises me
and my offering.
May I offer my love
devotion, and longing
to another who will
value and return them?"

And God said, "Yes, my beloved.
He would not receive my
most precious gifts,
offered again and again
through your devoted heart,
and so he has judged himself
unworthy of them.
You have given your all,
selflessly.
I will give you
the desires of your heart,
because I love you,
and your happiness
is My happiness.
I always hear you, my beloved.
I hear your heart."
I "channeled" God for a Christian friend who was feeling guilty for wanting to divorce her ******* husband.  I'm happy to say she got it.
I'm trapped
inside the shrinking
balloon of a deflated
world:
yesterday's party.
Today's trash
wrapping around my face
I can't open my eyes.
Pressured into
all the smells like
discordant blarings of
fetid flowers,
aching ages.
A dream memory
waking over and over
to the phone
ringing underwater--
sonar fingers
probing
into depths
too cold.
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson
As the days go by without a word from you,
I'm left here wondering what is really true.
My mind counts all the possibilities
So here's a poll--won't you answer please?

There's no need to be cruel or unkind,
Just pick the choice that best bespeaks your mind.
And if somehow I missed your favored choice,
Use Other then to give yourself a voice.

Now if you're very brave, and Other's what you've checked,
You know how to find me: please connect!

I haven't written you because:
   a. You scare me!
   b. I'm waiting for you to get the hint: go away!
   c. My computer crashed so I lost your email. Thank God you wrote!
   d. You're divorced?  I can't even talk with you.
   e. I thought you wanted *** now--I don't want to be friends first!
   f. I got kidnapped by terrorists and have been held incommunicado!
   g. I got in a car wreck and I'm in the ICU.
   h. I met someone 'way cooler than you.  Drop dead!
   i.  Other

We here at Gallup thank you for taking the time to respond to our questionnaire. You may have been selected to participate in additional polls.
My personal "app" for provoking a response from a recalcitrant correspondent--feel free to adapt and use! No actual pollsters were harmed in the conduct of this "poll."
My eyes,
arms,
fingers,
hands,
lips,
my whole
body
yearns to carry on this
conversation
with you:
your
lips,
soft
shoulders,
pillowing *******,
tongue,
and
fingertips--
these ears
want to hear
our hearts
drum! Our
bodies yearning
for sweet intersection:
mingling,
melting,
knowing
me, knowing
you,
from the soft, sweet inside
out.

Let's dance
slow
meaning it,
feeling deeply
every
breath,
every touch,
every kiss,
every turning
toward
each other.
Home! Oh, so sweet,
home.
Home at last,
in
each others' arms.
Written 2005. Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson
Face after face after face,
they stare out at me.
I look into eyes
full of hope and pain,
fear and courage,
longing and loneliness,

and the faces,
the voices,
the yearning
are all my own.

How are we to find
the one who is looking
for us,
with that unique blend
of terror and anticipation
that makes us
their "perfect match?"

We each want to
change our subscription
to the romance channel.
No more docu-dramas,
please!

So much history,
so many angry
silent nights
The full moon mocking,
cold and distant.

Please care.
Talk to me.
Hold my hand--
Dance with me!
Be fun!
Make me laugh--
Don't hurt me.
Please,
don't hurt me!

We smile bravely for the camera,
affecting a nonchalance
that is gone forever,
and we show our friends that
we have recovered--
the surgery was completely successful!
See?

The scar is barely visible,
true.
But tell me honestly,
can you really feel life Now,
through the scar tissue of
Then?
Written 2005
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson.
Who am I? Who am I?
I am bigger than your mind.
Who am I? Who am I?
Do you know your mind is blind?

I'm your bitter enemy; I'm your sweetest lover,
I'm the homeless wanderer, and everybody's brother.
Older than the stars, I was born anew today.
I've come to ask you questions that will drive your sleep away.

Who am I? Who am I?
You could say it all depends.
Who am I? Who am I?
Where your question comes from
Determines where it ends.

I'm the riddle you can't answer, the vision you can't see,
The name you can't remember that just won't let you be.
I am the unthinkable, the word you cannot say,
The truth you can't imagine, the song you cannot play.

Who am I? Who am I?
Why do you want to know?
Who am I? Who am I?
They neither know nor own me
At the church where you go.

When you presume to name me, that name will come out wrong,
When you think you've found me, you'll find that I am gone.
Believing that salvation is a prize for you to claim,
You'll hear my silent laughter in the echoes of your pain.

Who am I? Who am I?
Look up at the starry sky.
Who am I? Who am I?
I'm the one who makes you wonder why.

I'm the dream that haunts you in the middle of the night,
I'm your deepest terror; I'm your brightest light.
I'm the one you live for; I'm the one you fear,
I am the Mystery: the reason you are here.
In memoriam: M.C., 1997
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson
What might the Universe be saying,
Behind the endless chatter of my brain?
What would happen if I really stopped to listen?
Could I hear my seconds running down the drain?

I'll make believe my ears are giant dishes
Made just to hear the music of the spheres.
I'll try to stop my restless mind from spinning
As I listen for the whisper of the stars.

But what if the Universe is sleeping,
And all I hear are snores and gnashing teeth?
Or what if it has taken a vacation
Someplace where it simply can't be reached?

I would hate to go to all that fuss and bother
Just to find out that it may not like to talk.
It might prefer, like me, to have a quiet cup of tea,
And at sunset take a silent evening walk.

And even if the U. and I were speaking,
No proper introductions have been made.
What if it couldn't speak to me in English?
My German's rather threadbare nowadays.

I really can't converse on astrophysics
Or other things that Universes do
"Tell me, have U. ever had an ice cream,
Or visited the tigers at the zoo?"

I'm sorry now I ever even wondered
Just what the Universe might say.
I simply don't have time for idle chatter.
I've got so much I must get done today!
In memoriam, Frieda Simpson (my wonderful stepmom) who liked to listen to the universe. Written for her in 1999.
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson
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