Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on the ripened grain,
I am the gentle Autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there; I did not die.

For the one who carried me:

Life isn't fun
Makes me want to run,
Run fast from this place,
But i'm in no race.

Love isn't fun
Makes me dumb
In the head, I can't think
Someone help I've lost my link

Broken people attract.
Ones cracked
And leaking...
Their breaking strings
Looking for a crack in their darkness.

Life is hard
People drift
Illusions thrive
And sometimes...
Poems don't rhyme.

Love is hard.
You care
You try,
But it's fleeting
That's the best:
The pain that we search for.

Sometimes we search
And we find
Get off the perch,
Put down the wine.

You stop drowning yourself
And you kiss
Someone who is okay
For this.

A possibility
A potential
A definite ability
Exponentially...

For a maybe love.
For the one who carried me.

~Rose M. Long

There was a girl named Rose
Dressed in pretty black hoes
She sits on my lap in her little hat
as I kiss her gorgeous nose

She is a breathing book
each night I touch her pages
delicately turn to find
her heart in letters
written by her hand…

Scent of vanilla
soft and sensuous
unveiling another thought
another smiling memory
another intimate piece of her…

And I read with such abandon
across her pages
my fingers trailing
her soft paper skin…

In her sighs
she speaks of
stories and sonnets
history and fantasy
blue skies and silvery silks…

I hear her voice
in the pages
wanting to know her
every line
every word
every letter…

Now I take her into me
share my book with her
until we know
can read each glance
each whisper
each touch…

She is a book
and I love to read her pages…
-Craig Froman

You can only hope...
You're shrinking.
It's your only thought.
He moves the world.
Like an Earthquake.

Then he comes on a *****
When you're not thinking
When you've forgot
Then he makes your world.
Shake.