I lay awake late at night
imagining lines  
of poetic passion to the beat
of my heart, and the patter
Of rain
soaking my clothes in sorrow.

I watch the thin words flow,
testament to my writings suicide
hearts broken on the verse of my words.
She is embedded in this verse
and can hear the whispering words
crying lullabies and wishes
in the form of words.
where reluctantly they,
on tear-stained paper are born.

there is no offer of salvation
as I drown in my thoughts of her words,
just to bleed her sound from my soul
I reproduce such tasteless tears
to keep my eyes weeping.
Page after page I re-create
my heartbroken dreams.

Onward her memory drives me,
Imploring for just a second to herself,
that maybe my poetry,
will not be the only thing secreted
during such late nights
when she found herself alone.

The ghosts have gathered at her bedside,
Speaking with leather-bound tongue,
Quiet you, your flesh so fine,
What more have you,
To long for?

Evening enters early now, under miles of cloudy skies,
Blue eyes a silent vigil, to rain falling to the ground.

Water falling steady, within its millennial sound,
In these darkened times I bear witness to it's cry.

Far away on a cold mountain, a darkened road slants steep,
In rainy clouds is a village, where people rest their feet.

I stop to smell deep of the dampened maple wood
Whose frosted leaves are redder than a month of summer flowers.

By my first strange and fatal view
By my desires which then did ensue
By my long starving hopes, that remorse
Coerced my words with a persuasive force
Whose beauty of fall now surge and then feed
Now trapped within the silence of leaves.

I view you move, a luxurious dance
on paper the pen, has merged with my hand
I see your vivid, yet blurred velocity
The desk where I sit, now creaky and cramped

I see your languid, nubile sensuality
My eyes two windows, of a lover’s glance
I see your delicate, curves of simplicity
Feet once mobile, now rooted they stand

I see you gathering, spring in your arms
My vision awash, thoughts colliding but soft
I see your effortless, beauty take flight
Now quieted mind,

What now should I long for,
In life?

Shall I dismiss the coming of winter,
An old man bent with burdensome thought?
Shall I forget the fall that found me doubting?
From autumn weans a cold December,
the meanest month of all.

The words
drop from the sky
are tangled in trees
fall to the ground
and die
So I
desperate to create
make the mistake
of bringing meaning
to their life.

Her hot blood whispers,
secrets in the spring,
whispers of her,
whisper to me.

Beneath a jealous moon,
Silky she lies,
within my dreams,
and while sleeping
the world snores softly
carried on whisper thin wings.

And out of the nebulous night,
whisper-like laughter emits,
I feel her smile,
I hear her wonder,
Her breathing, her whispers,
exciting my skin,
Always those whispers,
I listen in.…

Let us escape in our wonder
let us paint our own picture
let us hang our great hunger
from frayed ropes of hope.
Let us harvest our time,
from such smiles divine
that our hearts may grow strong
with our plunder.

And in this eternal dance,
Through gardens delirious I wander,
thinking forward, slipping in,
running water mixed with sin.
Slowly I loose my sight,
In the greenery within,
Those tendril thoughts now winding,
To satisfy my longing.
Could it be here then,
That the clay of my being begins?

In a quivering of lips
While our eyes converse
distance closing
until nothing was there
but a shaft of sunlight  
in the scent of your hair.

Silence now,
subtle shock of your words
lying lose on an indifferent floor
sweeping slowly, I scatter them,
through the light of the open door,
Floating whispers in the breeze.  

And no more.

I see the spirits gathered at my side,
Speaking their oblivion tongues,
Grieving for my flesh so fine,
Who next shall they long for?
Death-rattles in my hall.

Your hot blood whispers,
scented secrets in the spring,
whispers of you, whisper to me.
Beneath the jealous moon,
dance naked within my dreams,
while the whole world sleeps,
softly snoring on whispered wings.
But still, your lips are sun-kissed,
Be still all moments now missed,
And out of the jealous moon,
drifts silver-lined laughter,
I see your smile, I feel the wonder,
The breath of your whispers,
exciting my skin,
Always those whispers,
I listen in.…

What dew on the petal,
Who’s moisture before,
Found solace in my uncertain plight?
She of soft flesh,
Her black and white sense,
Will I see her again,
In the stars of the night?
Ideas do drown in spasms of light,
Where poems lay down to die,
But I,
I am slight,
One with, but apart from the night.

I so much out of touch
of these humanities affairs
Caught listening for every lisp
every subtle shift
of social media cares
I so thirsty for the feed
Of my ego-maniacal need
For outrage hard and crisp
Me scrolling through long lists
Of new postings every day
All in search of mean things
I so joyfully hate to see
Speed-reading my frantic way
Through an obsolete humanity.

How very small,
quiet she would be,
Walking up softly,
to tickle the tree,
So livid with laughter,
A melody of scene,
Escaping out through,
splayed fingers and leaves.

Fleeting sweet dreams.
So lovely a trill,
her voice would quiver,
Throughout the green hills
a pleasant light shiver,
time sensing relapse,
Beginning to tremble,
So hard she did struggle,
to clearly remember.

Uncovered, unshaded.
Only the tree could bear,
Such artistry unaided,
And shuddered to think,
Her beauty had faded.
As late evening fell,
In amber drenched light,
The light of the faerie,
Leapt into the night.

Among high hills,
Dark streams did glisten,
The wind fell silent,
The tree there to listen,
Restless in sleep,
she waits in her dreams,
for memories so vague,
of tall laughing trees.

To all those silent.
Who remain willfully quiet,
Reflect on this,
When death creeps confident,
Under your door.

Fouls words have bruised the tip of my tongue
My raspy thoughts have come un-done
****** are the voices telling secretes in the night
Cold breath shimmering softly to the silver moons delight
Allow those words give birth to the darkness they did stain
When perceptions past are crushed like glass
Their silence still remains
Weeping words in a thousand ways
To wash away the pain.