is it curious that we spare our souls
through poetry,
but remain a closed book to our "family"?

Looking for a silver lining
               every time
                          it turns out wrong

Weighing reasons to believe
               looking for an
                          un-lost heart to behold

Seeking a golden skeleton key
               that unlocks
                          the secret garden’s
                                 velvet gate

Feeling the deep ache
                of cold and lonely
                           on a golden autumn morn

Walk along the garden pathway
               follow me down
                           the wooded pensive trail

See the reflection in the wishing well
                looking wistfully back
                            unbidden eyes' do tell

Feeling never enough
               like a pearl-less oyster’s
                           empty shell

Tripped and fell another dawning
               trying to come in
                           out of the storm

The only silver lining
               betides the moment,
                            
                            ­sipping words

                            of hopeful waters

               from your well ...


*wild is the wind

My search
For a higher power
Eluded me;
Thank God
I found our
Poetry.