He said
the universe cannot feel,
so she
cried Fire with the stars,
and every breathing creature
tasted melody
in our rain.

She said
the universe cannot listen,
so he
fell silent with the sky,
and every breathless creature
heard
the flutter of her heart.

After the flowers had all withered,
The ribbons bleached and frayed,
Our faults, lost and forgiven,
The cost both felt and paid.

As sidewalks cracked and crumbled,
Your palm print turned to dust,
Only memories left to miss us,
No beauty in which to trust.

Maybe I’m the last pretender,
The only flower on his grave,
The lone stubborn reminder,
Of a world you couldn’t save.

We are so far from what was,
With no ending yet in sight,
Just take that as a blessing,
It’s all I have to give tonight.

When I slumber I dream in color of a meadow by a brook
a sweet bird on a branch of a tree so tall it kisses the sun
in a sky of vivid blues, red, yellow and a hint of orange
listening to the birds sing about the flowers in bloom
attracting butterfly and nectar seeking humming birds
who fly near the place where I prepared a picnic for two.

Drift off to sleep my love
meet me in our meadow of dreams
A blanket spread
classic colors of checker board squares
with a picnic basket of wicker
two wine glasses for the laughter
of sparkling bubbles, we share.

Slowly falling
you glide on angels wings
in the distant horizon
next to the mountain of our desires
walking now
ever closer
stopping to sniff the aroma
of flowers grown by our mother nature
deeply in love with life
stepping on the moss of a fields shadow
your memory imprints a visit.

Our hands reach
and touch, fingers intertwined
feeling the warmth of together
as our eyes met with a look of content
our bodies drawing closer
we feel the purpose of meeting
from across the distant miles
a connection.

A summer rain softly falling
we dance
spinning
hands holding
until we fall together on the checkered blanket
laying together we make pictures from clouds
and speak of love everlasting
peanut-butter and jelly
a favorite.

Making plans for the coming days
when the Pacific ocean turns into a field
of green clover
and on the day
we picnic
and make love under the stars
in the meadow where we first met...
Looking into the mirror... as the story unfolds...

I have died.
I have finally surrendered.
It's over.
My soul has been rendered.

Now all I see is dark,
But there is no pain.
It's empty and black,
Depression reigns.

A shell is all that's left,
There's only death inside.
I've cracked.
There's no need to hide.

I feel no fear now.
It's not like anything could hurt.
I'm dead.
This you cannot try to avert.

When this shell will crack,
They'll say I died of suicide.
But that's a pathetic lie,
Because I've been dead long inside.

It's dark and quiet.
It won't go on for much too long.
Suicide will be fun.
Doing it at this point is not wrong.

I have given up.
I say it with no emotion.
This pleasant darkness,
Dims the previous commotion.

It's completely silent.
No more chaos inside.
I like this darkness.
I have died.

From ten thousand valleys the trees touch heaven;
On a thousand peaks cuckoos are calling;
And, after a night of mountain rain,
From each summit come hundreds of silken cascades.
...If girls are asked in tribute the fibre they weave,
Or farmers quarrel over taro fields,
Preside as wisely as Wenweng did....
Is fame to be only for the ancients?