I write my hopes and
dreams across my soul.
Whomever discovers
the story I carry
within is meant for me.

A hundred years will go to praise,
Her eyes and on her countenance gaze.

Two hundred more in her arms to rest,
A hundred just for true love blessed.

A time at least for every part,
Throughout all time she owns my heart.

A heartfelt story, a beautiful landscape, an entire world can exist in just a single teardrop. What worlds do I create? Am I the cause of someone else's pain or do I ease their tears to become part of that story.

The strong autumn wind
frees me, moves me, like
the river that carries
a twig. The trees bow
their heads and the
leaves hang trembling
as my soul is swept
away in its grandeur.

She walks in beauty like the night
     moonlight shadows and starry skies.
A soul of wonder beauty and light
     all reflected in her smile and eyes.

The calling song of summer moonlight
    all soft and still it steeps the air.
Approaches the solemn hour of midnight
    breathes sweet thoughts everywhere.

There below the trees and wild bowers
    soft light o’er her glowing face.
Green grass and dew-steeped flowers
    all witness to her nameless grace.

So soft so calm with tints that glow
    tell of her days as a goddess spent.
On her cheek and o’er her brow
    kisses sublime from a heart innocent.

I said her eyes are like sky blue reflections in the sea; she said they're the color of love come swimming with me.

Insomnia that dark mistress of the night,
you take me away from my escape,
my sanctuary from the bedlam of the day.
You leave me lucid awake and tormented,
with eyes heavy and a restless beating heart.
So here I lay adrift in a sea of moonlight,
wanting freedom from the days chaos,
to ease into tranquility and a sweet passing.

Dreaming is a song I kept forgetting the words to,
but something about you helped me remember.
It was your laugh that I’d never heard before,
but have been waiting my whole life to hear,
to remind me that my dreams can come true.

charcoal skies

clouds of gray
moisture falls
a rainy day

lightning flashes
then the thunder
grab my hand
run for cover

damp cold drizzle
bring the storm
here together
cozy and warm

thunderous voices
laugh and play
vanquished blues
the perfect day

I throw my voice into the sunset of the day, hoping the echo of my words will be written in the sunrise of tomorrow.

Everyone has a story to share. Some, beautifully written, others with torn pages and blotched ink. The mountain tops of joy and the valleys of anger and regret, the beautiful smiles masking broken hearts. In its uncomfortableness, may I have empathy and strength enough to love others’ stories of fear and hope and well hidden pain, while being vulnerable enough to comprehend their meanings.

Spring brings forth the
delicate fragrance of new
blossoms bursting forth with
brightness of innocence.

Days turn to summer hues as
new green leaves unfurl in
the breeze of the day.

Soon autumn of days sees
russet colors and golden
sunsets as twilight unfolds
its final season.

I am the one beside
me whom at times
I manage to visit,
and whom at times
I forsake; gentle and
forgiving when I am
love, and walking in my
place when I am hate.

Saying goodnight to the one you love
is like reading the final page of a book.
As the last chapter ends you notice
just how beautiful the plot has been.

You've appreciated the joy and the pain
as you read through every single page.
Yet there are more stories left to tell
than can be told before the books end.

So although the last sentence has come,
in the morning another book awaits.
You may start a new great story together,
or maybe return to a plot you left behind.

How does one love an artist?
Between the swirls of his brush strokes;
a jumbled collage to the untrained eye,
but a masterpiece to the one who sees
the colors beautiful reflecting his soul.
This is the delicate intertwining process
of how to love an artist.

Your mind and heart are intertwined in a dance of such grace and beauty...may I have this dance?

Sometimes the middle of the night wakes in me, and I can do nothing but lay adrift in the light of the moon.

My life is an amazing tapestry full of many threads, each a beautiful story with a beginning and an ending.

Some people just read the table of contents
to my story. Others jump to the chapters that
interest them. Then there’s the ones who fold
the corners of my pages and keep the book.

My words spill like paint onto a canvas; she is the beauty in every brush stroke that follows.

My words convey the
deepest feelings
from my revived soul.
With every pen stroke
I bridge the chasm
between me and the blank
pages, my meanings
crossing over to dwell
between the lines of ink.

Particles of sundust whirl around me like tornadoes in awe of my dance.
The moves and music coloring my world like brushstrokes and ink.

If I am so intent in looking for the roaring thunder to wipe the slate clean then I won’t hear the whisper in a thousand raindrops all desperately trying to show me the way.

She weeps not for the sea
She embraces the current
Becoming the waves

She chases not the sun
She is the moonlight
That cradles the stars

She worries not of storms
She is the warm spring rain
Bringing flowers to bloom

She sees no inhumanity
She is the gentle breeze
That sweeps it all away

She thinks not of endings
She is the innocence of life
A spirit that can’t be tamed

She weeps not for the sea
She embraces the current
Becoming the waves

She chases not the sun
She is the moonlight
That cradles the stars

She feels not the cold
She is the warm spring rain
Bringing flowers to bloom

She worries not of storms
She is the gentle breeze
That sweeps them away

She fears not the dark
She is a free spirit untamed
Casting light so divine

The open road that lay ahead
calls harmoniously to my soul,
the sound of moving gravel
a chorus of unsolicited whispers.
While some paths are well lit,
others are dark and unknown
where nothing feels familiar.
So each footstep is a triumph
changing direction at will,
no final say or fate accepted
only a sprawling open road.

Come forth, oh my soul,
let rest from the tempest
storm. Once loud the
approaching drums, now
airs still from love's kiss
under rain-fresh skies.

Here is their masquerade,
a false self on parade.
No truth in their eyes,
a mask to conceal the lies.

Buried behind a painted face,
the truth they work to erase.
A carefully chosen facade,
words to hide their fraud.

To what purpose, Fall, do you return again
    with sky tints turned to gray and mellow hues.
Trees once full and vibrant now dressed bare
    and grasses turning the ground modest yellow.
Think not of Autumn as a time of solemn days,
    but of nature preparing to begin life renewed.

A full moon apart
since she want away,
a broken heart
ever since that day.
Lonely the night
I count the days,
nothing feels right
since she went away.
Another full moon
now a year to the day,
too many full moons
she has been away.

I love that transition in the day when the sun yields the sky to hues of dark crimson and violet blue. This is that magical moment when the night begins to unwrap with stars and moonlight all preparing to sing their silver-throated songs.

He long survives, who lives with unspent grace,
   untamed desires wrapped in it's loving embrace.

Destinations once lost now quietly awaken,
   anger crumbles to dust and fears forsaken.

His light guides the way making all things well,
   illuminating the abyss in which he almost fell.

That light once dim growing increasingly dull,
   now luminous, bright, a light pure as snow.

Every sorrow, buried deep, can blossom in fruit for later hours; the scattered buds returning as vibrant colored flowers.

We are the rumbling earth,
churning from a volcanic soul;
the eruption that leaves a
crater and the ash rising from
the molten fire below.

As I feel the warmth of the rain
gently kissing my face,
why do I think of you?
As I become weather washed
in scents of lavender and lilac
from the soft storm breeze,
why do I feel your presence?
As I listen to the soothing rhythm
of rainfall upon the rooftop,
why does my heart beat for you?
I think I will linger here a bit longer
until I am thoroughly soaked
in thoughts of you

It’s not what I say to others, it’s what I whisper to myself that has the greatest power.