This spirit is a fire that consumes,
that burns the words to ashes and embers,
energy rises in beautiful plumes,
revealing what the hidden remembers.

Drawn to the call of the consuming flame,
awed by the wonder of the mystery,
once burned by the spirit, never the same,
charred remnants become light of history.

Nothing can be done to dampen this soul,
this burning life can not be extinguished,
flames growing rapidly out of control
calling out a new hope for the vanquished.

I am consumed, but I shall not be burned.
This kiln of passion has purified me.
Seared in my mind are the lessons I’ve learned.
Burning love no longer terrifies me.

Here the reluctance of nightly slumber
With my soul aflame with disquietude,
My fear, as darkness becomes my blanket,
That my eyes once shut will see you no more.

The blind can have their morning light unseen,
But my seeing you is morning to me.
What need have I for eyes but your beauty?
I should rather choose darkness with you.

I am scared! What if my eyelids rebel?
What if they are weighed down with jealousy?
My dreams are not enough! You are too true.
I’ll not sleep, lest my eyes stay closed to you.

I shall embrace insomnia’s madness
If my eyes can give me no assurance
That sleeping, they will open in the morn,
To you, only you, my truest sunrise.

The Devil thought he had me
So many times he tapped me
And said, “Fall in love with this one.”
And I did.

The Devil thought he had me.
So many times love went wrong
He laughed, “He’ll just give up, this one.”
And I laughed.

The Devil thought he had me.
So many times he tried me
And cried, “No true love for this one.”
And I cried.

The Devil thought he had me.
So many times he taught me
And said, “He is stubborn, this one.”
And I learned.

The Devil thought he had me.
So many times I had him
And said, “No, not that one. This one.”
And I loved.

A thousand hearts could not love her like mine.
Ten million artists fail painting her smile.
Billions of galaxies dull to her shine.
The runways of Paris envy her style.

Pursuit of her beauty drives dreamers mad.
Bees wish honey were as sweet as her lips.
Her beauty exceeds what numbers can add.
She captivates men more than an eclipse.

She makes ascetics succumb to desire.
The blind cannot look away from her face.
Lust for her hotter than infernal fire.
Infinite angels less than her grace.

She’s beyond anything under the sun.
She’s more than everything and only one.

Rocking, rhythm, bobbing head.
Quiet wisdom, words unsaid.
Moving, swaying, in a trance.
Feeling, praying, like a dance.

Darkness, hearing, murmured sounds.
Soulful, fearing, fire surrounds.
Comfort, pleading, self laid bare.
Crying, needing, selfless prayer.

Heartfelt, wholesome, voicing praise.
Faithful, welcome, end of days.
Forgive, revive, guilt away.
Strengthen, alive, here I pray.

Intent, inspired, sensing awe.
Arise, aspire, then withdraw.
Recede, to Earth, breathe the air.
Shalom, rebirth, peace from prayer.

You are my goblet of fine wine,
deep and full, aged to perfection,
plump red lips as grapes off the vine,
tastes mixed in perfect complexion.

Like wine that one drinks long and slow
to sense every subtle tone,
each sip brings something new to know,
our encounter is all my own.

I’m drunk on your complexity,
calmed by your scent before I drink,
yet moved by your intensity
until I know not what to think.

My symbol of celebration,
the proof of the Vintner’s daring,
cause and effect of elation,
your love is my perfect pairing.

Love is...
      
      Breathless anxiety
      Of amplified emotions
      With uncomfortable growth
      And shuddering awe
      Of inconsolable gratitude.

These scars,
Not a single one of them hurts.
Wounded,
Yes once, but the numbness reverts.

These scars,
I can touch them to remind me.
Wounded,
Yes once, but now it’s behind me.

These scars,
Disfigured skin says now I’m healed.
Wounded,
Yes once, that openness now sealed.

These scars,
Painful though what was hurt’s not there.
Wounded,
Yes once, its permanence laid bare.

The tenuous sense of self is crumbling
In a gentle breeze of slight rejection,
Whose worth is broken by extreme humbling
So breaking true self’s the self’s protection.

Breaking down instead of standing strong
Means the world must clean up all your pieces.
Even when the self feels the self is wrong
And the will to hold yourself releases.

The human soul is stronger than the hand.
The self survives outside a lover’s grip.
When you crumble you need to understand
Your own love is the greatest partnership.

You never considered how much trouble
It is to find heartbeats in the rubble.

With gratitude to failures and to pain,
Good fortune from descent to the abyss,
With clarity from living life insane,
And headlong tumble from the precipice.

With thanks to heartbreaks gone from bad to worse,
And tears that washed away my will to live,
For times my good intentions were a curse,
All that was bad had something good to give.

From loving wrong more times than I can count,
I now have learned to finally love right.
My darkest days are lessons paramount—
Thank you darkness for showing me the light.

What’s the worst thing to ever befall me?
Nothing if I love who I’ve come to be.

Just one more thing I can’t make myself say,
My heart is keeping all its words inside.
And though you may write to me ev’ry day,
When I said I would go I can’t have lied.

The message you last sent I can’t erase.
The thing you said you’re feeling I feel too.
That memory of tears upon your face,
Lonely cries of sadness since I left you.

You should not have told me I’m on your mind.
So pointless because I already knew.
Why could you not just leave my love behind?
I was rejected, what am I to do?

You spurned my love only now to miss me.
I miss you too but please now let me be.

I love you
                You know that
                        When I’m perfect
                        And everything I do
                        Is just right
                 But when mistakes happen
                         I’ll do things wrong
                        And you might not even know
                        And I’ll be sorry
I’ll still love you
                 You might not feel safe
                        When I was wrong
                        And not the man
                        You thought I was
                I’ll want to comfort you
                        I’ll try to rise up
                       And be the lover
                       You deserve
I’ll always love you
                Forgiveness might be hard
                        And I’ll fall
                        On my knees
                        Seeking you
                 But I’ll need your compassion
                        Because I would
                        Never intend
                        To hurt you.
Because I love you.

I sleep tonight anxious to rise,
And kiss your lips as sweet as wine,
So I awaken to surprise,
The woman lying there is mine.

My dreams no match for when I rise,
Drunk on her love like sweetest wine,
That she loves me is my surprise,
I love her and her love is mine.

The sun could someday fail to rise,
But still I would drink of her wine,
A sunless day is no surprise,
For my light is this love of mine.

Her touch is all I need to rise,
She’s rarer than the finest wine,
When our flesh meets to my surprise,
She says to me, “You, too, are mine.”

That which is invisible moves the most.
The greatest forces those that can’t be seen.
To feel we are influenced by a ghost,
To feel what our fragile emotions mean.

Wind, electricity and gravity,
Anger, kindness, sorrow, comfort and pain,
The measure of a heart’s capacity,
Missing a loved one you won’t see again.

Happiness and joy, mournfulness and peace,
The connection between two lovers’ souls,
A sense of time where time will never cease,
The need to be under divine control.

Manifestations of our God above,
His unseen force a model for our Love.

The sensation of being touched by eyes,
More sensual than any finger’s touch,
With intense softness that can paralyze,
Overwhelmed by feeling that means so much.

Your mystical gaze safely holds my heart,
Your stare is more gentle than velvet hands,
Even in photographs when we’re apart,
I’m moved by touch my soul never withstands.

If only you looked at me endlessly,
In my dreams I’m nothing but a mirror,
That’s never so blessed as to simply be,
To receive your stare when you come nearer.

Your eyes are like fire that doesn’t consume,
But I melt in their radiant presence,
Seducing me like the perfect perfume,
To be touched by eyes is feeling’s essence.

There’s a knocking that I hear each morning,
a knock both a visitor and warning,
mistakes that invite themselves to my door,
mistakes that are not welcome anymore.

It’s not fear that makes me keep them outside,
nor the fatigue of further wounded pride.
I’ve learned enough what lies beyond my door.
It’s those mistakes I don’t need anymore.

Although I still don’t live life blamelessly,
I prefer to make mistakes namelessly.
Don’t package them and send them to my door
with my name on the label anymore.

It’s not that I should err and let it slide,
but I’ll never be perfect, though I’ve tried.
I know the sin that coucheth at my door.
I don’t need to bear their mark anymore.

The stirring of violent eddies
Collide with and wear down my skin.
You’d perish in those emotions—
You’re safe if I don’t let you in.

The violence that leaves nothing safe,
Outer calm gives the world shelter.
I live torrents of ecstasy—
Much more intense since I felt her.

Storm’s pressure too fierce to control,
Explosion is not if but when.
Violent joy too much to bear—
Now the poet must grab his pen.

I know what it feels to miss you,
Both yesterday and right now.
What if missing you never stops?
How could my heart recover? How?

The last time I didn’t love you,
Was the moment before we met.
But I’ve loved you more every day,
I haven’t forgotten you yet.

Can’t remember not loving you,
Those lonely years did not exist.
Emptiness in me without you
An emptiness I can’t resist.

If I had to stop loving you,
My heart would have to stop beating.
I chose not to live without you
The moment of our first meeting.

I know what it’s like to miss you
When you’re gone for just a minute.
I don’t want to live without you,
What’s my life without you in it?

Beauty from the first glance,
Never more blessed by chance,
Beauty from the first sight,
Fades to black by the night.

Beauty lands on the eye,
Keep watch as time goes by,
It’s gone as sunlight fades,
Banality cascades.

Beauty which beauty lasts,
Timeless aura it casts,
‘Tis my surprise sublime,
Beautiful every time.

My imagination is so feeble,
For no matter how hard I try,
My image of how beautiful you are
Is nothing like reality.

My best dreams are so ineffectual.
For no matter how lucidly,
My clearest dreams of you and your beauty,
Are dull compared to the real you.

My most eloquent words lose their meaning,
For no matter what words I choose,
My language too simple and imprecise
For the indescribable you.

On my way home from poker night,
Where I had pulled a royal flush,
I tripped over a rabbit’s foot,
Doing a faceplant in a bush.

I saw a penny on the ground
Just beside a four leaf clover.
I put each one in my pocket
And restarted my trip over.

A light rain drizzled in the sun,
And formed a rainbow up ahead.
I walked to where it touched the ground
And found a *** of gold instead.

Standing beside the *** of gold—
A leprechaun and a genie.
They handed me some numbers and
Said “These will win the lottery.”

I finally got to my house,
And I had to chuckle once more.
An upside down horseshoe was nailed
In the space just above my door.

All I could do was shake my head.
The whole night was so strange but true.
But none of it could measure up,
To how lucky I feel with you.

The endless mercy of her love
is a sustaining salvation.
Her judgment of my feeble soul—
the most awesome revelation.  

Her love is a merciful hand
to the undeserved in despair.
She judged my woeful heart’s intent
and placed her absolution there.

She cannot love without mercy,
as the living depend on rain.
She judged my spirit perfectly.
Her kindness washed away my pain.

The mercy with which she loves me—
the greatest blessing one can give.
Her judgment’s better than my own,
it makes the world in which I live.

Quieted by my solitude,
Serene in my tornadic thoughts,
Alone this peaceful interlude,
Escaping feelings overwrought.

Immune to chaos and torment,
My heart is in the typhoon’s eye.
Though burned I’ve felt my pain relent,
Your love for me’s the reason why.

Anguish my one and only friend,
Loneliness meant desperation,
And I could never comprehend,
Feeling loved in isolation.

I thank you for the thought of you.
It’s the most present thing I’ve known.
This is what makes a soulmate true—
You’re here even when I’m alone.

He gave
Almost everything,
Knowing she would take it.
And he let her
Because she needed it,
More even than she wanted it.
He gave
Almost everything,
But he kept enough
To still give compassion
When she left
Needing more
Than he could give.

My pillow warm with light dampness
Rejects my head with suddenness,
Last night welcoming in comfort,
At dawn sends me away in hurt.

How shall I start this weary day?
What do faint flickers of dreams say?
Last night I slunk into blackness,
The dawn hurls me into madness.

The frightened embrace of a ghost,
All I have of my lonely host.
Last night I put the light to sleep,
At dawn held by darkness I keep.

Woke to disjointed consciousness,
And left behind my peacefulness,
Last night I plotted my escape.
The dawn of life has taken shape.

The wistfulness of new love between us,
Those sweet smiles that accompany surprise,
That unexpected love must have been us,
Love at first sight each time before our eyes.

I pretend you’re someone I haven’t kissed,
And laugh because inside you know me well,
Our love is new but there’s no time we’ve missed,
Our love is growing in this youthful spell.

The longer we’re in love the more we start,
Playing out in delightful random ways,
Surprised and overwhelmed I match your heart,
We pass our years as if they were but days.

Our love renewed each day promises more
Of unexpected I’ve been looking for.

When I met her she was covered in scars,
How could I know how deeply she’d been cut?
I’d try to empty my own reservoirs,
To heal the wounds that she had sealed shut.

I still believe none could have given more,
But sometimes it’s not how much care but how.
And when I failed it cut me to the core.
I feel my faith in love is weaker now.

For even if I loved her perfectly,
She was beyond ability to fix.
Her safety an impossibility,
She nailed herself to every crucifix.

You’ll be the one who’s broken if you stay.
You’ll never love her brokenness away.

We so misjudge the obvious places,
Searching after our most empty spaces,
Running straight for the prettiest faces,
Fooling ourselves in meaningless chases.

Has anyone found Love where predicted?
Fantasies to which we’re addicted?
Love’s not how the romantics predicted,
Foolish poets who end up conflicted!

Love is not the salve of those in despair,
Crying till morning for what is not there,
Trying to swipe on some profile somewhere,
They buy what’s on sale, but buyer beware.

They love too free, expecting rejection,
Just to love who made them their selection,
Love of convenience with no connection—
Love ends and begins with introspection.

Love is not something you find if you try,
Focusing on just what pleases the eye.
If Love arrives, there’s but one reason why—
You happened to meet the right passer-by.

I’ve written words needed but unwanted,
As one who fights a war of last resort,
Disrespecting heartbreaks that I flaunted
While shaping memories I could distort.

Those unwanted poems that I needed,
All written in defiance of my nerve,
Every one of them should be deleted—
I still don’t know what purpose that they serve.

I cursed my hand so it would write no more,
But the words fought battles of attrition,
Oozing out as if from an open sore,
To heal the despair of my condition.

I’ve no desire to ever return to
The places my words so often bring me.
But it seems writing them I learn to
Appreciate the gift of being me.

If I loved as much as I were able,
With all my heart, all my soul, all my might,
What love in return would I enable?
Could giving that much love ever feel right?

If I could feel as loved as I desire,
With all of someone’s heart and soul and might,
Could I survive the flames of such a fire,
Sustaining burns of focused blinding light?

What is the limit of a human’s love,
If loved with all their heart and soul and might?
Who could withstand it besides God above?
Love is the sun but we love like moonlight.

To love as much as Heaven might demand,
How much can heart and soul and might withstand?

To stir from my complacency
With the words as my compulsion,
Poems feel like a eulogy
Of my not-dead-yet emotion.

I write to be a memory
For either fondness or for ill,
With words of perpetuity
So that no reader’s heart is still.

The solemn thoughts trapped in my head,
My fingers type to let them out,
So my embarrassment is read
By strangers I know not about.

Writing with ego’s delusion
That when I die my words survive,
But my ironic conclusion
Is that I write to stay alive.

These scenes play out on eyelids’ screen,
This virtuoso performance
That no playwright could have foreseen,
Of such fantastic discordance!

Engrossed in this film with no plot,
With unknown actors in the lead,
I’d look away but I cannot,
The action is driven by my need.

Leaving the theatre of my sleep,
All of the faces still remain,
Fantasies filed away so deep
Inspire the poems in my brain.

From whence a poet’s vision comes—
Forgotten scenes that once were clear,
The rhymes are just a trail of crumbs
I use to bring the real near.

No need to retreat from smiling faces,
Or to find refuge from warmth of the sun.
The world comes replete with peaceful places,
Your only job is to discover one.

No need to deny moments of laughter,
Or rely on sadness to make you feel.
The world holds all the promise you’re after,
Your only job is to see that it’s real.

No need for shame when you feel elation,
Or feeling that fortune is undeserved.
The world has goodness as its foundation,
Your only job is to find yours reserved.

Happiness screams for you to come get it,
The world gives it to you if you let it.

You crawled from out of my heart to my head.
From where I wanted to keep you instead.
I should have known once you entered my bed,
Dreams I have of you would need to be fed.

My heart would hold you but then you burst out,
Reminding me what mem’ries are about.
I was a fool to have had any doubt,
That the seed you planted in me would sprout.

My love was too much for my heart to bear,
I could not ignore it and keep it there.
Since you came around it hasn’t been fair.
My stale lungs need to breathe love in the air.

Between my heart and mind you shall dwell,
And when you’re near me then all will be well.
While our story has still chapters to tell,
Without you my heart’s just an empty shell.

The internet says (so it must be true)—
“A smile takes twenty muscles to produce.”
But whoever wrote that never met you—
My heart is the only muscle I use.

The internet says (so it must be true)—
“Bill Gates is giving his money away.”
But whoever wrote that never met you—
Since I found you I’m richer by the day.

The internet says (so it must be true)—
“Chocolate will be extinct by end of year.”
But whoever wrote that never met you—
Yours is a sweetness forever, sincere.

The internet says (so it must be true)—
“Click ‘like’ and Ellen will give you a car!”
But whoever wrote that never met you—
You have been my gift and my shining star.

The internet, it seems, has little true—
It’s likes and follows and asinine memes.
Nothing compares to the authentic you—
You’re my one true love made real from my dreams.

The colors of the flower touched my eyes
like the warmth of summer air touched my skin.  
Like tenderness of your kiss touched my heart,
space between sense and feeling is so thin.

We’ve grown accustomed to this sacred space,
where we don’t notice the weight of the air.
Still, it touches every inch of our self,
a touch so light we act like it’s not there.

The physicality of our senses
is defined by near invisible touch,
of the lights, the colors and fragrances,
they touch like you, but not nearly so much.

A fluttering feather would crush mountains—
no touch is lighter than your fingertips.
Yet no sensation ever had more depth,
than the weightlessness of kissing your lips.

None smells roses’ fragrance until they bloom,
Or basks in the sun’s light until clouds break.
Our life begins with mother’s open womb,
Openly breathing every breath we take.

Even the blind can pray for open eyes,
To see the images his dreams can see.
Just as the mute must long to verbalize,
A vessel closed must let its contents free.

All life is a walk through an open door.
There is no grace without an open hand.
Arms open to embrace what we adore,
An open mind to learn and understand.

While failing love may have torn us apart,
All goodness must come from an open heart.

I have never met a woman
in whom I did not see beauty,
Though I’ve met so many women
whose own beauty they could not see.
And they were each one and the same.
And if I didn’t say otherwise,
I’d feel I was the one to blame.

I have never met a woman
that a good man could not adore,
Though I’ve met so many women
convinced they’re easy to ignore.
And they were each one and the same.
And if I didn’t show otherwise,
I’d feel I was the one to blame.

I have never met a woman
who did not radiate her light,
Though I’ve met so many women
who thought themselves as black as night.
And they were each one and the same.
And if I didn’t act otherwise,
I’d feel I was the one to blame.

I have never met a woman
for whom loving was not assured,
Though I’ve met so many women
despaired that love had not occurred.
And they were each one and the same.
And if I didn’t love both of them,
I’d feel I was the one to blame.

The meadow, fragrant of hyacinth and lilac
I lay among their stems, dewy grass in my back.
The pale blue of the sky holds the corona true
Swelter beneath the star, yellow at war with blue.

Distant petals, floating on gusty zephyrs fly
Squinting at reds and pinks, pollen dust in my eye.
A rushing bubbling stream carries away my mind
O’er pebbled bed beneath through twist and turn and wind.

A droplet escapes free and nibbles at my toe
As nature overwhelms with what the meadow knows.
Love is to be immersed—Just dipped my toe and yet
It was a pool of you, and my whole body’s wet.

Love is in this place,
what if I am not?
I've hidden my face,
from Love I forgot.

Love’s in search of me,
Am I to be found?
Love wants to call me,
Can I hear its sound?

When feeling alone,
Love draws itself near,
And makes itself known,
But what do I hear?

Love so immanent,
Found me unaware.
Not by accident.
It looks everywhere.

The world sings love, from lover to lover,
And what if I, don’t love enough as they?
Reed warblers trill to love as they hover,
Love on their mind, they sing their heart away.

When the time comes, they exist for one thing,
Like the love that makes the hooded grebe dance,
And grasshoppers with no heart still can sing,
While I, lowly I, have not their romance.

The beasts in their beauty know more than I,
In their love season, their love is complete.
They show love as if they don’t they will die,
But I love from the depths of self-conceit.

When a lovebird calls, he holds nothing back,
How I wish I could love as much as he!
Nature gave instinct for love that I lack,
The song of the songbird is not in me.

Resentment and anger, hurt and despair,
Loss of a hope that is no longer there,
Suddenly recognize you’ve grown apart,
Some of the feelings that will freeze a heart.

When pain is worse than not feeling at all,
Love at your door but you won’t heed its call,
Deny your feelings—you won’t be controlled,
You give it all up and make your heart cold.

You harden your heart to keep the pain out,
Emotions are things you’ll just do without,
You’re frozen and it seems small sacrifice,
You think you’re safer if you turn to ice.

You need to embrace the pain in your way,
Process those feelings and cry them away,
Trying to be icy cold is faulty,
Melting your pain is why tears are salty.

Her fine black hair like sculpted ebony
frames eyes like autumn leaves so deep and green.
Her face’s shape was made to smile at me,
Her lashes flutter and I know I’m seen.

Her nose sculpted to nestle against mine
with lips fully colored as ripened fruit.
She tilts her head to expose her neck line,
she’s elegant perfection, absolute.

Her shoulders give way to arms long and strong,
yet soft with tenderness of her embrace.
She draws me closer in them while I sleep
so that I wake to her angelic face.

I see in her the word beauty defined,
as if I coined the word in my own mind.

Surprisingly.
I am surprisingly surprised
About things already surmised.
This dullness
And sameness,
The monotonous feeling
Not a thing new revealing,
All the same trials,
In familiar styles.

Surprisingly.
I am surprisingly surprised
Though not one thing has been disguised.
Broken hope,
Such a dope,
I just wanted to believe,
This time I’d get my reprieve,
But I was shocked when
Life fooled me again.

Surprisingly.
I am surprisingly surprised
That I still have not realized,
I have earned
What I’ve learned,
While predictability
Is not such a tragedy,
I smile to myself.
Life repeats itself.

To turn jealousy to lost illusion,
and make love acceptable confusion.
This is the aim of trusted devotion—
love completely in spite of emotion.

To stay warm in the shiver of despair,
and to boldly love without fear of fear.
This is a healthy heart’s true sensation—
love love when loving feels like damnation.

To find comfort in intense affliction,
and then love with both doubt and conviction.
This is the comfort of a heart that’s sure—
loving an imperfect love that is pure.

To embrace the unknown and understand,
and find in small things a love to expand.
These are ways love’s paradoxes grow—
love is loving what love can never know.

The finest wine to touch my lips
Was not as intoxicating,
Neither could its sweetness eclipse,
The magic that we’re creating.

The finest silk to touch my skin
Was ne’er as tender or as light,
Nor did its comfort draw me in,
As your arms do for me at night.

No melody’s been played so fine
To be the the music to my ears,
Nor notes written to such design,
The way your voice always my fears.

The world can offer jewels and gold
And endless gifts as pure as dew,
But not even wisdom of old
Is as precious to me as you.

Ink wraps its arms around an idea,
Tracing letters that act as messengers
Of hope sent from some remote area,
With defiance towards its challengers.

The ink once it’s written speaks its own voice,
Like a child set free from its parent’s pen.
The pen having etched its lines made its choice
To have its intent not matter again.

Caring for all these children in my head,
They mature the moment that they are penned.
As confidently as they each have fled,
They don’t reflect on me as I intend.

Each word is a child that I have let go,
The ink no more under the pen’s control,
Out in the world seeing what I don’t know,
But into these children I wrote my soul.