A poet fiercely

yearns for a louder silence --


than the other speaks.

lots of thoughts,
but only has few words.

oh to be an illiterate writer,
a poet in silence.

Love has always had, a favourite corner.
With Secrets, Wounds and Scars.
Hearts often meet, at Sunsets.
So at Night, they can count the Stars.
Lonely is My Heart Tonight,
as I stand upon this Sand.
Crashing Waves roll all over Me,
Finally a Moonbeam holds My Hand.
At Midnight, as I try to close My Eyes.
To exhale My Loneliness Away.
My Eyes keep waiting for a Heartful Soul.
But not a Soul comes My Way.

It is printed now,

as pure art: the sorrow, mine --


everyone's, isn't it?

I miss the way things were

The way we use to hug

And tickle eachother

The way you use to come up behind me and spin me around

I feared out friendship would become a chore and so it has

You no longer enjoy talking to me

You no longer hug me or tickle me

Or try to make me feel better

I miss the way we use to be but I have to and am going to move on

I don't belong to you and nor you to me

So long old friend
it's time for our story to come to an end...

She said, “I don’t like talking about my feelings. My feelings are as fleeting as the season of summer”.

I told her, ”I never had a problem ever talking about the sun and temperamental weather”.

She said, “I don’t like talking about emotions. My emotions are as dry as autumn leaves”.

I told her, ”I never had a problem with a blowing wind or whirling breeze”.

She said, “I don’t like talking about my fears. My fears are a looming dark sky for a winter storm”.

I told her, “I never had a problem finding shelter and a place to keep her warm”.

I smiled and said, “Let’s just walk and talk about spring”.

…she left me there planting seeds.

while all along, I never had a problem picking her flowers away from the weeds.