It's the ones that get a hit, maybe two
That'll shred your soul apart
It's the poets with followers a few
Who's writing pierces the heart.

It's the poems that you can't believe aren't trending
That are worth a read and then another
It's the poems that are beautiful and rending
That should be on this site's cover.

A cool breeze ripples shades,
as long shadows loom,
chill air a lovers touch
on sun drenched skin.

Eyes half closed
I float, 
dreaming upon a tide of blissful shivers.

Seeing stars, constellations blinding
as a universe collapses within.
Laboured breath
gives way to pleasure's voice unfettered.
My mind unrepentant,
as velvet is tipped.

Nobody ever talks about the days in spring
where you sit against the windowsill
looking out as the rain engulfs the outside world.

Everybody talks about the sweet flowers,
blooming in the vast sunshine and warmth
beautiful colors and scents overwhelming your senses
as they sprout from the lush, green grass
and the renewed freedom you have
as you discard your coat and scarf.

Everybody talks about the cool afternoons in spring
where you find yourself reading your favorite paperback,
beneath the ancient cherry tree and its bright, pink blossoms
in the serene meadows overlooking the thawed pond,
where the only sounds are the birds in the distance
and the faint rustling of the trees as they sway with the breeze.

Everybody talks about the days where
the sun urges the snow to melt,
for the cold to disappear and be replaced by warmth
that goes down to your very core,
bringing life and joy to the world again.

But nobody ever talks about the days in spring
where the rain steadily comes pouring down
and you stand outside on the wet asphalt,
welcoming it with a smile as it purifies your consciousness
and opens your mind and heart.

Nobody talks about when deep puddles appear at every flooded street corner,
and even now you cannot help but take one giant step into it
for children's sake,
allowing the water to fly in every which way,
drenching your clothes as you go on to the next one.

Nobody talks about when a storm brews up in the sky,
thunderous dark clouds filling in as you try to outrun it home,
but try as you might,
there comes a point where you simply accept fate
and stand there anyway as the rain crashes down upon you,
upon everything.

Everybody talks about the wonderfully bright, cheerful days in spring.
But it's the days with rain, the dark skies, the sudden downpours,
that I believe need more attention.
As where would the pretty flowers and blossoming trees,
where would the lush green grass and soft, quiet meadows be
without a little rainstorm every now and again?

Murmurs of sincere well wishes
Filled my ears
And took root in my bones
Calming and enraging my soul

As lies of contentment
Seeped through my teeth
Breathes of truth
Escaped from my being
And I feared the scent
Of desperation
Would make my true desires known
As though their knowledge
Of that which I ache for
Would devoid all my dreams
Of their meaning
Squash the possibility
And obliterate the certitude
Of their fulfillment.

In recovery
The concept of "how"
Tends to elude capture
It is the "why"
That ought to
Impel one to reach
For solid ground
As it holds
So much meaning.