#insightshurt
The finch, awaiting the morning sunrise
lifts its beak in proud anticipation.
Darkness. The sun has forgotten to rise.
The finch waits for it in desperation.
To sing, to wake the world in glory’s song!
Why night, but for the finch to greet the day?
But dawn forgot to come; something is wrong.
The finch is lost, hopefulness fades away.
The sun causes the song of spirit freed,
his morning song in praise of all beloved!
The finch had grown accustomed to this need.
He’d never had to miss being so loved.
The finch misses the only thing he knew,
yet missing dawn less than I’m missing you.
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 9:19 AM UTC
Your love is like the horizon,
perceived no matter where I stand,
unclear which world that it lies in,
in and beyond my outstretched hand.
Your love is like that distant line
where heaven meets the earthly plane,
the beginning of my sunshine
that bounds a limitless domain.
Your love is like the horizon,
connected wherever I go,
comfort I idealize in,
the only constant that I know.
Your love is like that distant line
that never will recede from view.
Surrounding me and only mine,
I’m there in the center of you.
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 8:44 AM UTC
Before the finch sings or the rooster crows,
before eyelids raise or the sunrise glows,
before the sky transforms from midnight blue,
I’ve already begun my thoughts of you.
Before the alarm’s ring has hit my ears,
before the fog of sleep in my head clears,
before the grass is soaked with morning dew,
the day has started with my thoughts of you.
Before I extricate myself from dreams,
before the birds bathe in the dawn’s sunbeams,
before the coffee calls for me to brew,
my heart and soul begin to call for you.
Before I can arise from where I lay,
before everything that starts my day,
before anything else I have to do,
my day’s begun with loving thoughts of you.
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC
Spinning, turning from night to day,
the world goes around and around.
“You’re wrong! The Earth is flat!” some say.
They’re wrong. You make the world go round.
Each day the sun will rise and set,
with songbirds as the morning sound,
all might seem calm and still, and yet,
your love’s making the world go round.
There’d be no stars and no night sky,
no constellations to be found,
if we couldn’t bid the Sun goodbye,
and you didn’t make the world go round.
The world greets me each day anew.
Time passes though I hold my ground.
Time itself seems derived from you,
because you make my world go round.
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 12:08 PM UTC
Did you know when you woke today
that I would fall in love with you?
That your eyes would be seductive
sirens attracting me to you?
When you delicately opened
your lips at dawn to breathe, did you
know that first breath would draw me in
to your heart and deep love for you?
How many times were you to smile,
not knowing how much I’d love you?
Were you truly that unaware
that pure beauty is to see you?
How many years have passed till now,
my eyes waiting to behold you?
Did you know this moment would come,
searching for beauty, I’d find you?
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 2:04 PM UTC
There’s a knocking that I hear each morning,
a knock both a visitor and warning,
mistakes that invite themselves to my door,
mistakes that are not welcome anymore.
It’s not fear that makes me keep them outside,
nor the fatigue of further wounded pride.
I’ve learned enough what lies beyond my door.
It’s those mistakes I don’t need anymore.
Although I still don’t live life blamelessly,
I prefer to make mistakes namelessly.
Don’t package them and send them to my door
with my name on the label anymore.
It’s not that I should err and let it slide,
but I’ll never be perfect, though I’ve tried.
I know the sin that coucheth at my door.
I don’t need to bear their mark anymore.
Apr 22, 2019
Apr 22, 2019 at 12:38 PM UTC
She’s in my field of view.
So what am I to do?
I’ve nothing much to say,
but cannot look away.
This beauty caught my eye.
It’s pointless now to try—
though staring is a sin,
I’ll sin and take her in.
This beauty sits so near,
that my world stopped right here.
Now life’s very essence
is simply her presence.
Perhaps I’ll see her smile
if I sit here a while.
But if she won’t it seems
I’ll see her in my dreams.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 9:41 AM UTC
You are my goblet of fine wine,
deep and full, aged to perfection,
plump red lips as grapes off the vine,
tastes mixed in perfect complexion.
Like wine that one drinks long and slow
to sense every subtle tone,
each sip brings something new to know,
our encounter is all my own.
I’m drunk on your complexity,
calmed by your scent before I drink,
yet moved by your intensity
until I know not what to think.
My symbol of celebration,
the proof of the Vintner’s daring,
cause and effect of elation,
your love is my perfect pairing.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 8:45 AM UTC
At night I close my eyes to see beauty,
and then in the morning I open them.
This is the essence of being awake—
to open your eyes to live your dreams, or
live without them because you don’t need them.
All the world’s beauty to appreciate
includes the beauty worth dreaming about,
and beauty about which I dared not dream.
There is beauty in darkness and in light—
who am I not to fall in love with it?
I’ve dreamt of beauty I could not describe,
but nor can I describe beauty I’ve seen.
To encounter beauty is irony—
it stops my heart and makes me feel alive,
touched and moved by ethereality.
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 10:37 AM UTC
Countless voices singing their little hymns
converge in a glorious harmony,
sing song lyrics that celebrate my whims
perform a symphony inside of me.
My heart conducts a most enchanted choir,
of booming bass sung to uplifting heights
and tenors sweeter than King David’s lyre,
a singer for each of my heart’s delights.
The joy within erupts in songs of praise
to a life hitting every perfect note,
and hearing what my inner chorus says
in melodies from places most remote.
All the conflicting voices had been wrong
until they all declared my love in song.
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 11:06 PM UTC
Pain is just an echo,
an effect that the deep
caverns cannot let go,
calling us in our sleep.
The reverberation
of pain we’d thrown away,
in determination,
tries to return and stay.
The injury calls back,
“Still here! You are not cured!”
And now under attack
of hurt not felt but heard.
Pain is just an echo,
of the hurt that left me.
I just need it to know
I’m in recovery.
Apr 14, 2019
Apr 14, 2019 at 10:03 AM UTC
This spirit is a fire that consumes,
that burns the words to ashes and embers,
energy rises in beautiful plumes,
revealing what the hidden remembers.
Drawn to the call of the consuming flame,
awed by the wonder of the mystery,
once burned by the spirit, never the same,
charred remnants become light of history.
Nothing can be done to dampen this soul,
this burning life can not be extinguished,
flames growing rapidly out of control
calling out a new hope for the vanquished.
I am consumed, but I shall not be burned.
This kiln of passion has purified me.
Seared in my mind are the lessons I’ve learned.
Burning love no longer terrifies me.
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
Stillness. Interrupted
by the howl of the wind,
unseen, now hear, then feel.
Apathy. Disrupted
by piercing of my skin
like blades of sharpened steel.
Existence. Corrupted
by the wind’s chill within,
shattering the ideal.
Emotions. Erupted
from the internal din
of feelings to reveal.
Stillness. Interrupted
by baring to the wind
what I could not conceal.
Apr 9, 2019
Apr 9, 2019 at 8:39 AM UTC
Scribbled notes, a word, here and there,
thoughts jotted down before they’re lost,
journals filled with rhymes from thin air,
failed metaphors erased and tossed.
Crumpled paper piled in my head,
stories that should not be written,
poems penned never to be said,
a single word had me smitten.
A phrase I think might become more,
a tiny twinge might be a seed,
a style I’ve never used before,
an allusion that might succeed.
Images that need description,
seeing a fraction of a whole,
each of these an apt depiction
of chaos in a writer’s soul.
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 3:47 AM UTC
I’ve loved without loving being in love,
and loved with a love that I was scared of.
I’ve loved while hating I’d fallen so hard,
and been in love when loving left me scarred.
I’ve loved when love left me empty inside,
and love when loving felt like I had died.
I’ve loved when everything said I should not,
and been in love while I felt myself rot.
I’ve loved when I wished love would go away,
and loved dying with a heart in decay.
I’ve loved as if I was loving the pain,
and been in love pervasive disdain.
I’ve loved because I’ve refused to lose hope,
and loved as if I might someday elope.
I’ve loved the dream that a love could be true,
like the love that I love when loving you.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 1:57 PM UTC
There’s still time.
Despite it all, there’s
time.
Things I thought
I’d someday do, I
did.
Gave up on
forgotten goals. But,
time.
Time pursued
me and called me. I
heard.
There’s still time!
I’m always here! Do
it!
I did it.
Without thinking, life
lived.
I did things
I gave up on, in
time.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 10:42 PM UTC
Contentment left me discontented,
dissatisfied with satisfaction.
Unselfishness left me resented,
attractiveness was no attraction.
Couldn’t depend on dependable,
and it was hard when it was easy.
Neediness became expendable,
and too much calm made me feel queasy.
Lost all passion for the passionate,
conflicted by the lack of conflict.
No more heart to be compassionate,
found imperfection in the perfect.
A good enough love was never good,
finding those loves not worth looking for.
I know now what I then understood—
love like ours is everything and more.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 11:14 PM UTC
Springs spring back to life,
returning to form,
recovery gets
a bounce, extending
from its latent fate.
Springs power through strife,
calming from the storm,
everything resets
themselves, with pending
energy in fate.
Springs, rhythm of life,
no matter the form,
ensure the world gets
rebirth, extending
reliance on fate.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 8:06 AM UTC
Her fine black hair like sculpted ebony
frames eyes like autumn leaves so deep and green.
Her face’s shape was made to smile at me,
Her lashes flutter and I know I’m seen.
Her nose sculpted to nestle against mine
with lips fully colored as ripened fruit.
She tilts her head to expose her neck line,
she’s elegant perfection, absolute.
Her shoulders give way to arms long and strong,
yet soft with tenderness of her embrace.
She draws me closer in them while I sleep
so that I wake to her angelic face.
I see in her the word beauty defined,
as if I coined the word in my own mind.
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 8:06 AM UTC
Quivering, my hands try to hold
the thing most beyond man’s control.
My bloodshot eyes cannot behold
the weariness I can’t console.
My achy bones refuse to move
to encounter the vague unseen,
to meet what latent dreams disprove
in the fog of the in between.
I’ve not adjusted to the light.
I tried but my eyes weren’t prepared.
I want the end to be in sight—
the insight of which I am scared.
When will at last I be awake?
Is this the day I understand?
I stumble out into daybreak
to hold the future in my hand.
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 9:08 AM UTC
You know why time flies?
Because it never slows to stop.
When time hits you, it does so with a crash.
It hurtles into you with violent awareness.
Time doesn’t crawl.
It doesn’t walk. Or even run.
Time doesn’t unfold methodically, or slowly.
Time is an event. And another.
The arrow of time is a broken spear.
It’s not straight and not constant.
The present announces itself, out of nowhere.
Time is a measure of suddenness.
Time is revelation.
It is darkness speckled with epiphany.
Time passes only when change happens.
There are no small changes in life.
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 8:10 AM UTC
I’m the cling-clang of coins in my pocket,
and loose paperclips in a desk drawer.
Like lipstick and gum in a lady’s purse,
I’m a kid’s toys strewn about on the floor.
When I walk my insides rattle about,
like a janitor’s keys without his ring,
like groceries bagged by junior baggers,
I’m jumbled as a cat’s unraveled string.
I’m less ordered than a box of Legos,
or debris remaining after a storm.
Nuts and bolts in an amateur toolbox
click-clack and click-clack with even more form.
I’m just a package of random loose parts,
though the world sees me as perfectly fine.
Life is making order of that chaos,
but it’s my life and that chaos is mine.
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
There are far too many goodbyes for me,
though in its own moment, each has its place.
There’s infinite goodbye variety,
from “see you soon” to gone without a trace.
The polite wave goodbye across a crowd,
the goodbye of one fixed in distant gaze,
hopeless and anguished goodbyes cried aloud,
relieved goodbye a babysitter says.
But two goodbyes rip me apart inside—
no return or return I know not when.
Which is worse I had hoped not to decide,
until I said the worse goodbye again.
Final goodbyes to one gone forever
hurt less than “goodbye, love, till whenever.”
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 12:49 PM UTC
To touch her nakedness with my own
was to take our most human moment
and suspend it higher than the stars
where human beings had no right to be.
To kiss her while we met in bareness
was to transcend our humanity
and in our most ****** pleasure
feel totally unconfined freedom.
To make love with nothing between us
was to make humans’ humanity
and have the two come alive as one
where life itself is understatement.
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 10:49 PM UTC
Whence does the Earth spin on its axis,
turning day after day, boundless energy
transforming boundless horizons
to sunrise, to sunset, and to sunrise again?
Would the Earth spin on its axis
if not for me, here, aging day by day
and seeing the morning after darkness
reminding me to be a little more alive?
Whence the energy to turn the world?
It must be the joy that beats in my heart
empowering my will to live,
and to love. Whence that power?
A woman. Beautiful inside and out,
wind blowing in her hair, her smile
replacing the sun. A beautiful woman,
this is what spins the world on its axis.
Whence the world keeps spinning?
For me it is my heartbeat, an engine
of love that she feeds with a goodness
good and beautiful enough to power the world.
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 8:55 AM UTC