"where love is the petal of a rose"

i wondered where death took life and
life took death. life threw itself into  
the daylight forgot the petticoats of the day
and her ambers burnt to the greys of the sun.  
i couldn't melt before her or she before me
but she ran and i loved to run with her.
death was life without the ghosts of sorrow
and life was death in its impenetrable dreams,
i was swallowed up by the arrival of summer and
i died at her feet, i died
and i lived, i fell and i stood up and life was a
thirst to survive and death was the blue ghost
and the oblivious rose. death was something
i would know tomorrow and life something i
could feel today, not sorry and not sad,
not empty or harnessed, free in its freedoms
open hearted, rain-scented. i opened my eyes
to the stars and fell at their feet,
i opened my eyes and the poetry flew
away like a sky-hungry bird.

I find it scary to write a poem,
because what if people don’t like it?
Or worse — what if they do,
and it means they’re broken too?

Does it mean they also can’t find
peace and treasure in their mind?
Does it mean they feel the same,
so my pain is not a claim?

The fear, the loss, the pain and everything
If its not mine does it leave me as nothing?

the night whispers the black water fall of ashes
that bloom into the sparrows of sorrow...


the sorrow sparrows are back again
sitting in the tangled woods of twisted trees.

Van Gogh heard their voices
bouncing off love's walls.

the sorrow sparrows are leaning into me.
my sad eyes, dream of you brother.

I lean into the soft lit room
searching for love's quiet hours,
with sunlight flickering through willow trees.

"don't cry, darlin," my wife whispers.

Let this be a safe place
Let the ink and paper offer peace
Let the words flow
Let the light glow

Let souls gather
Let worlds matter
Let ideals prevail
Let ideas reveal

Let this mean power, weakness, innocence, guilt
Let this be, what it needs to be

The low rumble
of sparks of delusion
race across my thoughts
in the seclusion of my skin

The Gulf's winds that
are coming
will seed the destruction twisting time end over end

The bird must have its feathers if it so desires to fly

Then why does the naked truth remained grounded
instead of racing across the sky

The stars were not to blame
Nor the ocean between us
Or even that dreadful place
We used to call home

It was only you and me
Always a little too wrong
And maybe just a little
Too late