She tells me about the sun, this late night moon.
Informs me of the infinite number of days to be.
We converse together, this shining white orb and I,
as the stars watch in amused, dangling patterns.
I pray at night, I pray in the day. I always pray.
Does it help? Yes I think it does. It connects me
to the magnificent creator of the sun and moon.

So I stay in conversation with my global friend.
We speak not only of the sun, but of life itself.
Sharing observations on how it all plays out.
This moon, in its wisdom, tells me of infinity.
Of taking a step, even a walk, into ones' destiny.
I wonder at this. I consider it most carefully.
Realizing that I too am making this odd journey.

The moon will depart soon, its turn almost over.
Not to fear! The sun will replace her luminosity.
In fact, were speaking of truth, it shines brighter.
What words shall we share? This sun to come.
I suspect I shall not know until the new daylight.
Not to worry. Not to fret. Everything in the world
happens for a good reason. I do fully believe this.

We shall all be one with the sun and the moon,
when God calls us to our eternal resting places.
I'll join those that have gone before me, and in
freedom be relieved of this human endeavour.
It's hard to live when you're dying. Harder to
live when you're trying to pretend that the
stars up above even know you have existed.

Always the morning comes,
      in one manner or another.
Still, thank God for every morning.

If pain interrupts the ritual
      of toast and coffee,
still there is food and shelter.

It is so quiet here, in the new day
      erupting.
There is no need
       to turn on the world.
It will come soon enough.

Thank you God, thank you.
        I'm still here.

I haven't thanked You enough in my life.
      I've been too self-absorbed.
Too content with making endless requests of You.
Now I see that is has been difficult to hear You
      since I've not ever listened.
Forgive me for not appreciating the silence,
    for not giving You my ears.

It is true what the Scriptures teach.
There is only now. Only this moment.

Living now, I live forever.

I walked naked into a cloud
That floated playfully upon the hill.
I was alone, there was not a crowd,
Upon the place of emptiness unfulfilled.
In silence I placed my wandering feet
Firmly upon the ground of defeat.

The waves of voices were far away,
For I could not hear them in this place.
I was content to be isolated in this way,
Perfectly alone without one angry face.
In solitude I opened my thoughts
To memories of pain that was brought.

I see now with mind so absolutely clear
The pattern of twilight that played so free;
The lost passion for life once held so dear.
I shivered with open eyes in winter breeze,
On this hill where the cloud surrounded me.
For this place was now where I would be.

I let the air perfectly entrap my mind,
My naked heart open in the pain it caught.
I will flee the hurt that has been defined,
And rush uncertainly into prisms of thought.
I walked naked into a cloud
Where whatever I wanted was allowed.

Oh my love, how I miss your morning smile,
That once so pleasured my tedious long day.
Each word spoken by you a pleasant style,
Of twittering grace and luminous sway.
In all the words we spoke to the other,
None pleased such as words spoken for our love.
Each word so gentle, one after another,
Which caressed me as soft as silken glove.
But these are just shaking old memories,
Of visions so easily pushed aside.
Images that seek warm affinity,
Of other words which denied our divide.

These are my steady pictures of your eyes
Which held me focused on you as my prize.

My friend, I do not know which way to look
For love, which seems to have faded away.
Imagine my life as a dusted shut book
That will not open; nor does it shine light
To travelled places where I have been blessed.
My friend, the distance from in my heart is
Equal in distance from where I rested.
In strange words I have spoken of lost love.
And yet there not found worthy substitute
For hearts opened by my smiles. Alas, I'm
Emptied of charms that blow as flute upon
Air which is green with envy for my look.

My friend, it is useless to fix the past
Which begins in error, and never lasts.

I don't need to taste the salt
to know it is bitter. Restless
rings on emaciated fingers,
                  jungle foliage in
          increasing shapes of
                                   doing.

What am I doing?

Thousands of words
            are written on every
single day. Millions
           of sentences spoken
in a million different
            ways. Still nothing
sticks like glue to
              the fabrication of
                         supposing.

I am one dot on a
       blank piece of paper,
one mark in a
                jangled box of
                   wasted sand.

Underneath my feet
       lies the grovelling ground.
Above my head the
             lives the growling sky.
Between the two, that
                is where I surround
myself with the gauze
    of mischief and malignancy.

I do stand, but only roughly.

Swaying branches open like
                falling stars and so I
keep the green light
      blinking. One day, maybe
even tomorrow, I can taste
             the salt and comment
on how sweet it has become.

Spaces have been erected around the box.
                    Inside stands the shadow man.
                  Crucifix dangling from his neck.
Rosary beads furiously being
                                      pumped in his hand.
Pray, shadow man, pray.

So he does.

He prays for the world.
      He prays for the universe.
            Mostly he prays for himself.

There is a world of difference
           between living and pretending;
           between being and existing.
Shadow man is unsure of which
               position he stands within.
Pray, shadow man, pray.

A bullet is faster than strangulation.
Choking kills the body but not the mind.
Around and around the dozen or so devils
                                          are circling the box.
"Come out and play" they whisper
                                           to the shadow man.

But he ignores the evil outside for
       it has already become his inside.
It has become a normal pattern
                                  of his situation.
Pray, shadow man, pray.

He will never leave his box.
The luminous walls are
                   his zone of safety.
Where are the answers?
Where are the solutions?

They exist.
They survive for other shadows.

Not for shadow man himself.
Pray, shadow man, pray.

I listen to whispering voices,
telling myself to breathe, just breathe.

I take pleasure that now
I am just a breeze
that blows by
as it goes it's own way

Not bothered by
dysfunctional memories.
Putting them away.
Locked in attic, ignored.

Irritated by nothing
because I've stuffed
glue into my ears.

Screams for help
shot like broken arrows
from your broken you.

I whisper in harmony
with the voices.

We are pretending together
that your need
is not greater
then mine.

I love you.
Or at least
I used to love you
before you found
your broken bow
to stop the wind.

Blowing by
on broken breezes
caressing myself
as the whispering voices
tell me to carry on.