should i grasp you
so tightly to my heart
that your soft and gentle
wings may break
are you that vulnerable
may you leave me
and fly away from my heart
and feel the essence of freedom
as you joyfully drink in
the love of another

I drown each and every night
in your dark, deep pool of eyes
suffocating but enchanting with no end
they beckon to me, and draw me in
hold me in a magical spell

I lose myself in your eyes
i search over and over for my soul
which you might have stolen
and hidden in your pool of eyes
never realizing till the end
that the strange, mysterious eyes
has always been seeking
to capture me and drag me
to the dark depth, in you pool of eyes

I stepped out from the dark doorway
into a world entirely beautiful
where flowers bloom with extra brilliance
where birds chirp with extra sweetness
where the trees unfurl newborn leaves
and sway with the cool breeze
where the sun spread its warm glow
as if it would never set
i walked among them
every time i step
my heart overflowing with pleasure
and equally waiting with my eyes open
to absorb the next scene
is this heaven?
i ask myself

my feet stops
in front of a bright red mango
it looked so tempting and desirable to touch
every part of my body drawn to it
my gaze never leaving its beauty
i reach up and grasp the mango
oh no! its bleeding
its blood oozing over my hand
redder than the mango itself

goodbye my forbidden fruit
i whispered, and walked ahead
with tears in my eyes
but worse
it continued to bleed

When is ‘Almost Good Enough’
  never good enough?

When is ‘Clearly Not Enough’
  an ounce more than enough?

When is ‘Almost What You Need’
  the most you’ll ever have?

When is ‘It’s Not Only That’
  the only thing that’s left?

When is ‘In Almost Every Case’
  not in any case at all?

When is ‘In Lieu Of Everything Else’
  the thing sure to be missed?

When is ‘In Actuality’
  in real terms actually not?

When is ‘To Be Perfectly Honest With You’
  the biggest lie you’ll hear?

When is the serious ‘Last Ditch Effort’
  the one you continue to try?

When is the ‘Absolute Final Time’
  the one you repeat again?

When is ‘Really’ not real at all
  and spoken then in vain?

When is ‘Probably’ not probable
   or even close to that?

When is the phrase ‘The Bottom Line’
  the top of your agenda?

When is the trusted ‘Old College Try’
  strictly out of school?

When is ‘Painstakingly Difficult’
  the easiest thing you do?

When is ‘No Sweat—The Deal Is Done’
  so much harder than before?

When is ‘Let’s Start At The Beginning’
  the end of the debate?

When is ‘The Last Word On The Matter’
  the beginning of what comes next?

When is ‘So What’ a euphemism
  for the most important things you do?

When is ‘It Is What It Is’
  categorically not, and never will be?

When is ‘The Bull In The China Shop’
  ceramic and for sale?

When is the celebratory ‘Victory Lap’
  the one taken in disgust?

When is the magical ‘Three Point Shot’
   four points more than its worth?

When is the special ‘Love You Lost’
  the only one you’ve never found?

When is the figurative ‘Bird In Hand’
  the one that flies away?

When is ‘Bantering Back And Forth’
  the silence you extol?

When will your words line with copper wire
  to conduct the truth unrobbed

When will you cease to pander and mislead
   —naked before the mob

  
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2015)

aren’t you tired of looking for love?
aren’t you tired of waiting for it?
the love like a movie like a song like a story like a dream like a poem?
aren't you tired?
isn’t your hope weary?
and, don’t you see?
love has always been here,
the love you crave,
the love like a movie like a song like a story like a dream like a poem
love like a river like a waterfall like an ocean
love like this morning like this breath like this moment?

Do I dare to dream
To aspire to those lofty
heights from which I could fatally plummet?

Ah, but the air is crisp and the sky is
blue upon that misty summit

And it calls to my desire to have the world
beneath my feet

But if I am again to dream I first must rest and sleep

I'm hoping that she lives now in the green pasture
That's nestled into the curve of the forest
Outside of the dappled dewy shade
And hued moistness
The blue sky running like water above
And the lazy trickling creek running it's course below
All the red clay gone
Cut through to shale and rock
By the water that cares nothing but to run
I hope that she has a place here
A place in the meadow in the Sun
A place to be warm
After all the cold she had in life

The pages turn idlely
The teachers' voice fades away
As she, stares in space

The soldier with his gun poised
Stares at the moon
Dreaming of home & warmth

The gentleman in his luxurious car
With his head full of problems
Drives with a grim look on his face

The beggar girl with ragged clothes
Searching through her eyes
Of long lost, hopes and wishes.