As a man and woman make
a garden between them like
a bed of stars, here
they linger in the summer evening
and the evening turns
cold with their terror: it
could all end, it is capable
of devastation. All, all
can be lost, through scented air
the narrow columns
uselessly rising, and beyond,
a churning sea of poppies--

Hush, beloved.  It doesn't matter to me
how many summers I live to return:
this one summer we have entered eternity.
I felt your two hands
bury me to release its splendor.

The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.

Walking is my one escape
From the walls I find around my life.
Watching the sun break through the dark
Over nearby jagged mountains
Gives my soul the fuel to carry on.

Those walks and sunrise vistas
Are the leitmotif of
Many things I write.
They paint depression
Shades of pink and apricot.

I dredge my store of adjectives
To find new ways to capture
All I see and wonder at
Sometimes it turns into a song
That only I can hear me sing.

“Then sings my soul
My Savior God to thee
How great thou art
How great thou art”
There is religion in the sunrise.
          ljm

I watch her.

I watch her,
as the night drapes over her window,
as the stars tangle in her hair,

I watch her,
as the chiseled imperfection
of the moon stirs her inky musings,

I watch her ,
in the uncertain glow of the dying candle,
in the torrent of tattered thoughts,

I watch her,
watching me through the silver-smeared glass,
through the pits of colourless brown,


                                      I watch her as                           
                                   ­            she slowly traces the silence,
                                                        ­           silencing the traces of him.

Uneven as the limbs of a tree reaching out,
in chaotic patterns, a tormented version of a
scarecrow's domain--
How is it that Autumn presses against my skin
like shimmering opals' serenity diffused by
the mountain rain ?
Only the amber leaves left on the ground,
wet and worn, alone and somber, could tell
the tale of a fractured world...and so it goes...

Flailing, bitter wind passes through its lowering
branches,
keeping shadows at bay, forlorn and captive--
Carefully, each candle-lit carousel of angels dips
deeply into the heart of human existence,
moving relentlessly toward resolve...and so it goes...

Yet, the cold dark winter arrives in a burst of
alabaster snow, an orchard of white light amid the
coal-streaked sky--
Ironically, a peaceful resistance to the haunted echoes
of mindful thought, aroused then placated, determined to
find respite in the glancing waves of light--
Only tomorrow will arrive with its relinquished dreams,
all for nothing, everything subverted--
Then somehow the serenity of closed wounds refreshes
the flourishing gardens with misty roses blooming,
their unleashed and aromatic perfumes permeating the
crisp air--
Such pleasantries still prevail..and so it goes...

Alas, Spring and Summer seem to mesh in twinkling
stars worthy of my gaze--
My voice would whisper gently to the gods
to envelop me in an umbrella of truth, wisdom and
future aspirations--
Enchanted by the dancing diamonds in the sky,
I breathe a sigh of wonder, while the balmy nights
enhance the restless thoughts of  youth...and so it goes...


But October is the best of times, its extravagance wrapped
in cinnamon and cloves, melancholy in its stance,
yet powerful in its essence--
A menagerie of coral, bronze, and burgundy,
with pearly frost laying upon the pumpkins--
Restless souls embark on another seasonal journey,
through this picturesque tranquility and solace--
And so it goes...

But when will the dawn keep its word ?
Why does it shun our desire to walk along the waters
of Divinity ?
The rippled lake seems colored with confusion,
the azure sky mirrored on its face,
Where waterfalls crash into a heap of helpless tears
of humanity...and so it goes...

While mankind's Will senses its destiny ahead,
the finite meets the infinite, the chaos dissipates
in shallow graves,
and the scarecrows rise above the winds of change--
The world, still uneven, yet the universe waits while the growing tension leaves our souls,
flying away toward that starlit sky where life keeps
its eternal secrets...and so it goes...