Love me for the first time.
Baby.

Love me like.
It's the last breath you'll breathe.

Keep me in your pocket.
So you never lose sight,
Of me.

Don't know what I'd do.
Without you.

Maybe I'd be lost.
Trapped in my fears.
Left broken in tears.

Love me like the first time.
Baby.

Love me like you'll never leave.
I only see myself through you.

You made me believe.
In a different dream.

So love me like the first time.
Never let it go.
Never let it die.

Just hold me like it's the last time.

King David’s bard once sang about
ceaseless cycles of the tides,
a time to hope and time for doubt
as we the cresting waves must ride.

Once trusted boatsmen stopped to ford
the deep oceans that divide
and swung their oars in wrath’s discord
to scorch with flames of pride:

I walked across an iron bridge
that had once been made a wall.
Not so far back was it the edge
of two worlds to rivals called.

The warhawks of those bitter days
that swung hard over seas of steel
returned to their unspoiled state
of ivory doves whose touch can heal.

Some doves now blacken in their dirge,
their talons whetted for the **** —
it’s worth recalling when this bridge
its joining purpose re-fulfilled.

Fell waves will crest and seas will smooth,
our tossed ark will come to rest
upon a place where psalms will soothe
us where we by doves are blessed.

Time flies so fast you won't even think
You could go from 5 to 16 in a blink.

Wasted all my childhood years being big and brave,
Didn't realize how much it would cure the pain.

Spent all of my teenage years worrying and remembering,
Ended up regretting the choice I had made.

Give me one more day, to go back and be brave
I promise I won't waste that day being miserable and hide
in my cave.

When did I start running from the silence between words?
Filling the moments between with anything to pass by another swing of the pendulum.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock, why do I hate the hands of the clock?

Time passed…
Now a mirror sits at the front of my eyes
My reflection, inescapable.

The journey travelled has forged me anew,
Yet often I find myself an axe, wielded as a sword.
It begs a thought past horizons and into sunsets
With a shimmer that hides the wonder of distant futures.

Is a blade a blade because it looks so,
Or because it cuts?

Whispers faint inside my ear
As I bite into the pear
It tastes bittersweet, I lick
It's **** juice between my teeth.

And when I reach for another
My weak hand gets pulled right back:
"Shouldn't you not even bother
Until the pear seeds turn black?"

"No," I say, "must try one more.
There's no time to wait; You see,
All the good pears have been taken
And there's barely left for me.

All my life I have been waiting,
Years of looking at the tree
Just to wait for the right moment
For me to reach out and see...

This one's bitter, green and sour,
Unlike any I have seen
In the hands of all the others
Who came rushing before me."

And as I reach for a pear,
One that's sunkissed, sweet and rare,
When I brush it with my fingers,
Suddenly it falls straight down,
Crushed onto the umber ground,
It's sweet juice spread all around.

My tongue's not my own neither the deepest longings
And neither these for pursuit nor grasping but to know
Of promises unknowable in the flesh but will be
For which given only glimpses of their shadows
And to know that before Time and for all times
Not futility as seeming for the Teacher is present
And so too the end's the beginning and vice versa
But to hear the Voice for in the dark the ears see

an envelope of
time is sitting on my mind
waiting does happen