meeting you was serendipity
it's practical to move on
live my life
focus on the task at hand
yet my soul yearns for you
and you embody me
like you and I are the same being

a search has come to an end
our souls rejoice
while the bodies sleep in cold beds
I do not understand the loss
of you (or me), dear stranger

So I simply write about
how my soul yearns for you
and how painful it must be
for you to not know the language
of our souls (of love)

I guess I’ll always be looking for you

In every crowd

And I know,
You won’t be there.

But maybe,

someday,

our eyes
will meet again

Steadfast
Risen to done, inclined
With a times shadow, to last
Among causes sign's...

Deeds of without...
Sated by roles of history
That a common power...
Makes a chance, of life's epistolary

Crave more...
Than an impunity
To introduce a quiet war
Of a candid salvation of humanity...

Rancor and/or hunger?
Places of distrust, if not deception?
Have a song's life, long before done and gone, were...
The truth of sincerity, is means, from its inception

Taken with the might, of serendipity
Come by the ought, of better aspiration
Mere, has become my voice for liberty
Like a stone, of choices seen, I see a host's generation...

Sunshine with a memory
For you, a silent opportunity
In a stranger's smile, the thief of worry
Has a callous sake, a gift to those that seek nativity

A role of simplicity, if not seemly kind
The searching and adoring reach
Of sincerity in churched thought, is a wieldy mind
Of patience for mercy to step forward, and claim each?

Behave yourself, a promise to keep
Has the voice of uncertainty
When if, is to be a heart in the leap
Of such, to verify vanity is much more than a key

Have, and hello...
So fine, adjusted to curious mores
Nary come a well-wishing same, in spare owe
There is always the option, of determining lives worth

Falling asleep, in the sun
A wind of sparer tows, to remember a fate beyond...
Sulking in the needs of another, welfare of whole, come
Has a burden let, been the sake we knew, of a graceful some?

(true story..)

Ah ****, Babe.
(Same message, copy/pasted..
and then sent to a whole different part of me;)
((but you and I both know it is all still part of the whole))

      so here goes..

I was built to run on  all eight cylinders.  8.
Within this world, more often than not,
I am left with no choice but to run on 3.. or 4..
Not my initial choice,  but due to what little
of someone that they (most everyone) present to me
they only bring spark to the measly three or four;

But every.. uh..  few once in a while(s)..
(Get it?)


Who you are, sparks all 8 within me,
and within that depth of interaction (connection)
you yourself (I am sure of it) would expect (hope for)
no less than all 8 from me..

(Let me get this out as subtlety as I can..)

   But suddenly, dear friend..
you want to *****-slap me down  into
a small wooden box that has only room

     for 2.. or 3..

((along with little ol 'freshly-emasculated("eunicated"?)) , me

Problem is.. what am I to do with those very potent
    and powerful last 5.. or 6?
Cause I swear you're the one that could be fully capable
of requiring from me, all 8.

I could swear you're that one.. At least I thought you were.
    hint// (I know you are..)
Hmmm.   You want me to fall asleep?
I have a bed for that.

3  bore the **** out of me.. be it through politics..
or even the everyday, Mundane. .
or whatever the mother-****.
I have not watched TV or seen a commercial in over 20 years.
Trump was prez for over 3 years before I even saw his wife.
It was at a Subway, and I asked a friend,

    "***.. who in the m-**** is that?"

Everyone got a good laugh.
Not as hard as me, because I never even heard
that Howdy-doody ******* Obama's voice  the whole time
  he was president.
Not that I care..  or like..   or don't like..

    but it is simple as this--

The world is going to turn as it sees fit.
The Beast will achieve its all-consuming end..
which is to dilute  into powerlessness,
(void of all rightfully-attainable Glory)
each and every soul-bearing  human
that it can possibly get its Rat-claws  in to.
You have people in your life that add to you
and not take away (steal from you),   Life?

      You don't need me.

You are all things Beautiful that I say,
but  **** your comfy,
palatable little box you want to zip me in to, Love.
You dream of a world filled with all 8,
but carve from it the emptiness of a measly 3.

(I love you, but have a super ****** way of showing it.)
We only live once in this body we have,
and at the end of our time here, the 'husk' falls off.

My whole reason for being down here is to
somehow get out into the light of day
the truth about who we truly are.

People want to focus on the husk?

We were built solely to Unfold into the Glory that awaits us..
(The Glory that is already in us, though in most.. still dimly-lit)
Because when the husk falls off.. well Kid..
All there is in Eternity..   is Relationship.

      The more Hearth-lit, one's Glory
      the greater the capacity for Relationship,
      which is all we will have left  at the end of all things.

   Cool part is..
the very Nature of Love Itself..  absolutely Craves it.

..Craves it, sweet Angel.
You are tremendously Gifted.. but sadly, we (you and I) are done.
I'm a ****.. I know.
I would much rather kiss you than ever hurt you.
I will be there for those (she) who needs me
until she stands up and truly beats my ***
for being the person that I am.

      She still needs me.
      So that is what I will do.

btw.. you are by far, one of the best I've ever seen.
Be glad that the world doesn't rotate around me

   .. or we would all be ******.
   Kisses to you, Sweet one. xoxox

You could change the world.
You should.
Repeat this inauspicious comment to someone;
Age isn't part of the equation.
Even the youth may listen, may remember,
I should change the world.
You did. Some place, at a time unknown.
It's not so obvious as the Butterfly Effect;
Appearing subtly, less noticeable than
Pedaling into a velvet N-E Huron breeze
A walker feels on her wet lips
During a burnt Autumn stroll.
I changed,
And rocked the world
Of  my loved ones.

A crowded café, bustling, boisterous, filled with jocular
talk and the ardent gossip of young men and women,
a salesman’s smarmy sincerity, and the deft, placid
intonations of desire over two cappuccinos with skim milk,

and she is there, in the corner, against the brick wall, sipping
unadorned Earl Grey, and then a zoom focus, her presence
enhanced, the room falls away, and the chatter quiets into a
cushioning white noise, background to the film he has constructed,

and with the leads filled, the location set, the supporting cast in place,
now, the script.