The greatest beauty
is invisible-
the sublimest thought
is incommunicable -

the dearest love
is  undefinable
the deepest sorrow
is indescribable.

Somewhere tucked on a bookshelf is a book.
Dogeared, yellow pages with a hand written note.

In a box, lie trinkets — gifts, a pendant of Annie, a book mark.
Hand made cards, smudged with time.

An old doll almost intact,
Broken spectacles, pictures, a watch and postcards.

Some may call it clutter, junk —
And it’ll all go when I go.

But to me, they are the reason behind my smile, an odd tear.

More precious than collectibles or art —
They are pieces of my life,
My world and heart.

I sleep with my
top hat on these days.
It keeps the rabbits from
crawling out and running
away.

They are the safest close to
my brain when I sleep.
I don't want them eaten by
feral swine or to wander
off and drown in a vat of wine.

The magic show will
start soon, and I'll pull them
out when least expected.
The crowd will gasp and groan
when I saw the woman in half.

"It's just a trick,"  I yell.
"She's okay, sleight of hand...see."

They know better, the blood
isn't fake.
They see the horror of the
magician's life, even though
it entertains. We all wish it
was an illusion, but it's
showtime.

Bright blue skies
A few white clouds scattered
Golden rays of sun
Multi colored flowers everywhere
Green trees swaying
Fragrant scents adorn the air
Like perfume

Light calming breezes
Blow across the face
Teasing it ever so slightly
Like gentle butterfly kisses

Ocean waves pounding the shore
Turquoise water
Endless sandy beaches
Smooth as silk
Umbrellas everywhere

Music in the air
Children playing
Hints of summer
Fill my mind