Love should leave you feeling full,
Never empty or cold.
You tended to my well so well,
So I am yours, adore.
A water-based creation
Should have fresh-flowing hydration,
Within tangible flesh and
Replenishing the Spirit, yes,
You leave my skin soft.

Oh for the rising moon
   Over the roofs of Rome,
And swallows in the dusk
   Circling a darkened dome!

Oh for the measured dawns
   That pass with folded wings—
How can I let them go
   With unremembered things?

Once upon a time I was young
Or that's how the story should go
But truth be told I've never felt that old
Others tell stories of youth
In wonder
Speaking about the glory years
And I hear about the past
And how they lived
While I'm still living it
And wonder
If the best stories never told
Are by those that decided
I won't die while still living
Because the best part of everything
Is simply
All the beginnings

No welcome mat adorns the threshold of this house, whose stolen curtains leave gaping holes in the privacy of a building, stripped of laughter. The night peeks in through open doors, and rotted walls, where once soft incandescent light illuminated: a family portrait, childhood masterpieces, and a bookshelf once filled with books worn by the love of three souls who enjoyed nothing more than the peace and quiet of Saturday afternoons devoted to the exploration of their favourite author.

Along the North wall, where once the girl's bedroom sat proudly, gleaming with the banners of musicians and musicals, now rests rubble and ruin. Bereft of purpose, the house is weighed down, with the shame of being unable to shelter its family, with remorse from not withstanding, with guilt from the failure to hold together a family that deserved more than the inextricable truth that a life lived fully and completely in youth and virtue must come to a stop fully and completely.

No welcome mat adorns the threshold of this house, whose drawn curtains provide an honest glimpse into the life of a family, stripped of laughter. The day peeks in through an open door, across painted walls, where the soft morning light illuminates: a tough reminder, childhood innocence, and a bookshelf built with the  love and attention of now two souls who try valiantly to remember the peace and quiet of Saturday afternoons devoted to the exploration of their favourite author.

Vulnerability finally found its voice
I’m feeling fear
Willing and hopeful
Healings’ less frightening
When free to be vocal

Mindfulness and meditation
Unexpected belonging after years of isolation
Looking up at the same dark sky
Trying to interpret fading constellations

Realizing there’s more to us than just a rainbow of medications
And no matter one’s diagnosis
We all long to stay present and focused
And crawl out of the darkness for good
Because vulnerability finally found a voice

C ould you,
L oosen your grip on my reigns?
O bviously, you
C an't see how you're,
K illing me softly
W here am I now, where do I sleep?
O ver and over it replays on my mind,
R everbirating sound of whips tearing my skin
K indly put me down, and just put me out of my misery.