You read to understand,
Not
To prove or disprove,
One opinion of a matter
from another,
All stories that take their place in our hearts
and transcend time,
Are told from the soul

She's gone
another two years
with the memory
when I wrote this poem.
She's gone
and I still haven't found
a replacement,
even though I have written
many poems in her memory.
She's gone,
and that was the truth.
But poetry still has to be written,
and memories still have to be kept.
Now there's only one
story left.

Clothes are for wearing.
Music is for listening.
Chairs are for sitting.
Children are for loving.
Food is for eating.
Parents are for security.
Laws are for obeying.
Schools are for education.
Religion is for wonderment.
Incarceration is for miscreants.
Water is for drinking.
Trains, planes and automobiles are for travel.
*** is for many reasons.
Love and Truth are for everyone.
Life is for living.
Death is for dying.
Death is for living?

It's never about

first this and then that, a truth --


is a coherence.

There are no limitations. You
Receive help that
You never accepted.
It now encircles you.
By an outstretched hand.
No one bites it off.
Acceptance received.

The sun directly investigates
Any unwillingness
To not accept change. Bringing a pinch of new light.

Who would you have to be
Stepping into the
Other side?
Finding you are truly good enough.
That any other connection
From limiting beliefs
Unravels, like opening a pomegranate. One seed thinks it's all alone,
not seeing all the others encased in their own restrictions.
What if it were the perfect time? The full ripe fruit.

You are the right age! This is the perfect time!

What if the opposite were true?
What would you do? Even if a part of you did not believe it?

Bathe hence your confining insistences.
What is in your skyline? Your oceans horizon?
Supplied with new resources, a deliberate inventory, of unrestricted beliefs, if the opposite were true?
Then who would you have to be
To make it unmistakable?
Who would I want to be
If the opposite were true? Now, only now, as a matter of time.

Pseudogedichte
Mag ich
Immer wieder
Schreib' ich
Nehm mich selbst nicht ernst
Versteck' ich meine Wahrheit
Verstecke meinen Schmerz.

Will Menschen zum Lachen bringen,
Will Freude in sie auswringen,
Die letzte, die ich habe
Nur heute noch,
Einer der letzten Tage.

So *******es.
In mir weint es.
Es schreit -
Die Angst vorm Tod.

Wie fühlten sich die Verurteilten?
Diejenigen, die wussten,
Bald werden sie tot?

Hätten sie noch körperliche Schmerzen zu beklagen?
Hatten sie noch Schwere auf dem Herzen?
Ich frage mich das
Wahrscheinlich umsonst.

Nestled in his arms, I've found a quiet place,
A refuge for my weary soul to rest.
Within his gentle gaze, anxieties erased,
My racing mind is soothed, concerns addressed.
When self-doubt winds its tangled vines around,
And life's complexities leave me spent,
His strong embrace is the shelter I have found,
Where desolation’s grasp cannot extend.
Behind those eyes lies an eternal sea,
Of wisdom, truth, and purity so rare.
Each moment with him reveals more to me,
Of passion's tide we joyfully bear.
Through every twist of fate our lives have known,
Paths destined to meet, forever to have grown.