they say that this is the best time of your life
to explore
but I have been there and been dissatisfied
rolling hills
misty mornings beneath the dew of trees
paved roads
a highway hitch and a stranger to talk to
time passes
I am home now but remember
only pieces
existing and fading in memory

In a cathedral of stone, stark and white,
with a lone statue from long before.
It stands in a niche, with a soft spotlight
shining on its medieval decor.

A ****** Mary, with her Mona Lisa smile,
looks down from her pedestal high.
In quiet, I stand and gaze at her for a while.
Did I just hear her audibly sigh?

Her gilded robes are weathered, cracked,
the once bright paint’s faded and spare,
many scars made plain by shadows cast
by a red circle of candles lit by prayers.

What crises has this scarred Mary seen?
Her sighs echo ours: This statue’s hallowed
by the pains the prayerful to her bring.
I hail thee, marred Mary, full of our sorrows.

Seasons change.
Time goes on.
The morning dew will fade away,
And shadows form.

Blissful snow,
Paint intentions so pure.
The sun will glow,
And waters run furthermore.

Setting sun,
Darkness settles all around a waning moon.
Roses curl,
The world falls asleep.

When suns rise high again,
Will flowers bloom?

dilated tears, those that cut through your eyes – in the
silence of hope, I know love will call for me part-time;
working myself just to prove forever. but it always stays
the same, fighting the headache of it all – smiles dissolving
away like an aspirin in a glass of water

where you rest your mind on everything you had; memories
are just gravestones, where we bury ourselves in – hoping
they too find their resurrection

in memory; I’ve written dreams of love on chiselled marble
slabs – lettered in gold, where we loved each other, close
enough to death; ending if all off as two concrete bodies

love makes death jealous, on how good it plays the waiting
game. the still waiting of a grandparent, who reaches their
own old age, knowing in death, they will finally meet their
lover once again.
                love is age, and that love is beautiful!

I gave my
gut
a voice
it
gave me
cœur-
age

I was chasing a perfect picture of myself
till now
Fooling myself, I thought the outward was the answer
Realizing the impermanence of our bodies
Sends warm shivers and prickles down my spine.

Where one is fighting gravity
Another one is fighting life itself
One may embrace poverty
Another one may struggle in rich hell

As strong as grief
The body will let go
Our minds repeat
The patterns ever-slow

This night's embrace
May only cause surrender
The outward image
Dissipates in madness

And only thing alive -
Quiet awareness.  
What's missing?
Our joy in hearts -
Therein lies only sadness.