Take my advice, I’m not using it.

woefully lonesome
wholely without one
joy

entirely loathsome
completely without them
love

i knew you were leaving soon
yet i didn't get a goodbye

There’s comfort and calm,
in your house, in you –
Like a different realm,
After all we’ve been through.

Your small touch—gaze alone—
is a home. Have you known?

There exists a special type of insanity,
Only known to poets
And those who adore poetry.
It is something that cannot be explained
Or described, only experienced.

And those who experience it
Are never the same. They know
The burning need to write and read
And the comfort of finding yourself
In someone else's words.

This madness holds a hidden truth:
No one chooses this insanity.
Instead, it reaches out to those
Broken, disillusioned, embittered
And held captive, by life itself.

I do not ask you to pity the poets,
Or those captivated by poetry,
But the next time you see one
Ask them: Why do you love poetry?
And watch as their eyes light up.

Studying the wrinkled lines
of elder poems
on the topic of
the Four Directions;

however;
the poetics of
haunting bards
and mossy sage
always
spiral
back
to the
acorn of the heart

In this infinity;
a piney cabin
resides
inside a bamboo
forest

and Wonder,
She
sits cross-legged
below the
river rock hearth;
warming her palms
against the
irregular downbeat
of snapping flames

“North, South, West and East;
Trust the Wise Arrows
Aiming True
from Your Heart's
Quiver.”

every man looks bigger than they are in the shadows
it takes courage to step in the light
and really be seen

i am not afraid of the light
or it's ability to show me who i am

when it does not come around so often
leaving me in the comfortable shadows