We were born
before the sighs
of surrender

before the twilight
whispered crescendo

before the sad sound
of the wind ―

Ere the raw truth
that tells a story
     through
"eyes that are
the windows
   of the soul" ―

We were born
with eyes wide
        open
     with tears
    that well up
of truth unspoken,

  love arising
        like
a budding flower,..

metamorphosis
of fertile heart ―

The wheel of life
turns unbound
an outgoing tide

   as certain as
    continuum
       abides ―
an unbroken lariat
  until the knot
  comes untied

A lonesome dove coos
  perched upon
deserted garden gate;
its gentle plea segued
into a silent prayer ―

Seasons change;
   supple buds
of forlorn love
― wither,

unsure if we’re alone
         or if
we’re alone together (?)!


                                                  ­  ­    ­         .

The heart
is silent poetry
the incubator
of most-felt words
and sentiments
which are their time biding
for ripening-

even the deepest love
should know that waiting
strengthens every affection
as the flowers know
their right moment
of blossoming-

there shall be
no forcing
the heart-
it's subject
to no one's bidding-

experiences set in
of joy and pain
of living and hating
all life coalesced
in every mood
and feeling

herein
is the breeding
and crystallising
of the most sublime
where the deepest suffering
goes into dissolving
with the heart's sanctifying


and there shall end
the bleeding and sorrowing
when the voice of silent poetry
finds herself in the writing.

So many people focus on finding love
I'm too busy finding myself