I waited for you. for you!
now dust has put me to bed
and kissed me ten goodbyes,
dead cells surround the dead,
they sang me lullabies.
It almost feels like home,
yes I’m the queen now in the hive-
were I not homeless,
waiting for you, for you! my life.

Before dawn,
the breeze comes through my balcony.
The sheer curtains dance wildly

She comes to me as a whisper,
so faint that I almost miss it.

Each morning a whisper,
every night a caress.

Some nights I try to follow
the trail of beauty
only to find they vanish.

Turned into words adrift,
taken away by the breeze
back to the ocean
that they come from.

Sometimes I see her beauty
blowing all around.
Other times I can only see
colors she leaves behind.

Someday soon I hope
that I can join her, in her world
or she can join me, in mine.

Until then,
I will meet her
at our place,
where we dream together.

The rusted mailbox
creaks as it’s pried open,
dented door dislodging.
Two yellow balloons
tethered to its post
and bobbing in the wind,
stark color against a slate sky.
The bomp bomp of the balloons barely
heard over the wind’s whistles.

Empty inside.
It’s Sunday
after all. Too easy for you to forget
the day when days
amalgamate into one
long moment. Stuck in an
everlasting condition,
waiting for the day
when your mind
at last
is quiet.

A quiet
that comes when your hands
are busy. Too
distracted by tasks to
dwell on thoughts.

I’ve given myself
A million little reasons
Why  

I don’t deserve
The comfort, but
Not a day goes
By

I wish I was  
In your arms
Again.

I’ve given myself,
A million little reasons

Just to avoid the  
Rising tide

Emotional chemicals,
Mixing, sending my soul  
In overdrive.

Overwhelmed, and  
realized tortured  
Soul,

Hoping my heart
Can learn to love
Amid this lull.  

I’ve given myself,
A million little reasons
Why  

But there’s something
About you that makes
Me want to  

Try.

I am a wrong un,
Cant do right
For doing ****** wrong,
Cannot show my love
For crowding,
Cant give space for peace
Because notice must be given,

And I am trying so hard,
So ****** ****** hard
To make things right,
To live down and make good,
But my crimes are like
A ball and chain about my leg
Rattling and reminding

She who's love I crave that
Once I was a bad man,
That I have done her wrong,
Not of my repentence,
Not that I have changed no!
I am doomed it seems
To wear my guilt a while yet,

And so Im sitting in the cool
Night air and far from home,
Outside the door of the love
Of my life,
Waiting and hoping to be
Allowed in from the cold,
To build a warm and loving life

With her.

Someone please tell me,  that

..The true Art of Love  is more
than the self-centered,  'incestuous'
  form of  love,  shown
within what the Modern world
refers to as "Romantic love"..
aw ****.. please tell me it is more

    Romantic love says this--
"You are 'of value' to me because I love you"
"You are 'of value' to me because you are in my life"
"You are 'of value' to me because you are  mine"

And after the 'bliss-filled'  romantic love
     ***** the bed..
the only value that remains is through the residual,
soon to be diluted and washed out by displacement--

..Either that of a new self-centered based  'filling'
or that of the re-placement of "value-image"  
with that, brought about through the all-too-ready
  and internally-available Gaslighting process

So please, please explain it to me just how  wonderfully
"romantic' love can truly ever aid in the healing process..
     someone.. please.


     .      .      .      .      .      .      .    

Alone  she sits in her room,  waiting.
The atoms  of the air,  
carry  both sides  of the story--

  The coldness  and the warmth
  the closeness, and the distance

  ..the empty-black
  followed by the Sky-filled Blue

  Someone please tell me,  just who
  helped this little-one  to see
     that the way  out..
     is the way,  through?

Protected to the point  of nearly dying
    Insulation is isolation to the bone
     (she is crying, crying,  crying)

On a Prayer mat,  facing East;
a grounded soul  is flying

    (but flying  so very all alone)

There is a Chaste,  and a Purity
  Borne separated
from the Un-doings  of man..
    Void of all walls,  
   there is a susceptibility

Yet also  a wide-Opening
    to the pressings  of the Ache

There has been a waiting
to the point of near Death
A look in Patient eyes
    (One that separates me  
       from my breath)

Not all are so protected
from the Fallen  love of man
..Not all  have almost died
so all alone  in their room; 

  protected

From that empty kind  of love
leading to an empty, empty  Death

Grasping at love or passion or ecstasy.
Take this pain from me, sop up my tears.
Pour me a cup of sunshine and roses.
Let me bask in the light of your aura,
And I will be full of joy once again.

My head spins and swims and swirls.
Dizzy with delusion and disconsolate,
Like a lighthouse for the lost and lonely.
My weakened heart pulses steadily.
A rhythmic blast of fluorescent green.

After all this time I'm still looking,
Which is good,
Depends on what you're looking for
And how long you've been looking,
Unless you've been waiting