A mist descends upon me,
Like a kiss from the sky.

And you are far away, between us
A thousand miles and rivers.
Mountains outstretch their arms,
Into the plains.

I am still sitting here, untouched by the world,
Gently caressed by Time and every moment
Away from you, Is wasted.

Music enters my ears but is silenced
By memory, your voice gently drowns it,
Till all around me is a shadow
And only your lips are real.

My eyes wish for rest, the mist still descends,
I will walk no more, I will wake no more,
I welcome this end, this quiet silence,
Sleep is when I see you again.

for she who loved me vainly

vainly
in a way that produced the result she undesired,
my response harsh and swift,
her fan-tasy has no place on serious battlefields

those poem are battlefronts mine,
that are the numbered chapters in
My Revelations

still, she still reads my poetry

think on it, it’s confusing,
my unkind cut that came from deep anger,
it was outed but not for her, because of her
but for me

for to love
permission must be asked and both
given

and the line is wavy but 100% solid.

but reading my poetry, is that a violation as well?

my poems are me inside out.

but if you look in me deepest,
forgiveness is there,
not seeking contact,
but hate
is inconsistent
with walking a
path humble