He sat watching as the love dripped out of her,
like broth dribbling off the spoon back into the bowl;
each drop of pho causing ripples of warmth.

He wished to plunge deep inside of her soul,
to penetrate her mind and pause briefly, but
long enough to see how much love remained.

He watched as her hands became a swarm of bees,
her brown eyes turning to fire as she spoke,
and in this moment she was still beautiful.

His heart writhed while slowly realizing that,
it doesn't matter how much you love someone.
Sometimes love just isn't nearly enough.

sudden downpour,
on repentant shoulders,
licks clean.
As if weather knows.
As if weather sees.

rain forgives.

religion should be about hope
not putting fear in other people's souls
should be about about peace
not about starting wars
about forgiveness
not about punishing innocent hearts

imagine all the people living life in peace

but how can one do this when bombs are thrown
instead of love
when moms cry
and children die
peace is impossible to be seen
when music dies and we hear only desperate hearts
praying
begging
wondering why.

we have different Gods and rules
our prayers sound different
our holy books are not the same
and
there are many sins in our souls
but
you're not God, nor am I
and none of us should play
the game of washing sins away
with spilled blood
and shed tears.

In Florida sometimes it rains so hard
that you believe that it can't possibly stop,
that it will just rain and rain forever.

Sometimes I'd wake to a storm late at night,
and I'd sit out on the porch.

You could smell the lightning, and the coolness of the storm would
make your hair stand;
I'd feel so alive.

Some nights I'd go out, and my father
would be sitting on the porch already.
Lost in the storm
or maybe
called to it.
We wouldn't talk,
but we'd be lost together
in the rain and thunder.

Sometimes I wonder what of him
is left in me.
I am not sure
if I am more afraid of there being
very little
or of there being a great deal,
but when it rains
I think about him on that porch;

She was nature, beautiful
But deadly, her cheeks as
Scornful as a rose, the smile hid
The thorns underneath.

Her presence though unseen,
Could be felt, like the sun's warm
Breath on bare winter skin.

She led him somewhere secret
As the night lures the stars,
As clouds gorge on the
Fragile light of the moon.

Over the crumbled bodies
Of leaves, into the alien
Land of tranquility.

When he woke, hands burning,
There was nothing left to see.
Only a faint feeling glistening
In the air, a failing heart and
A tongue full of dreams.

You can leave the past
behind.
But even when the sun
is on your back,
You can still feel
its heat.