Under the light of stars time cradles a sorrowful desire. The way of the wind through trees, the way is to be quiet. It is not that the night isn't over. It is me who forgot how to dream.

The scent of white lupine,

The mystery of open fields,

A slow poem of moonlight

Where you are

The lost love returns once again
To plow the fields of credence
Moon's divinity  sinks
In sun-baked desert of emotion,
Unearthing buds of rebirth
In the jaws of reason.
What lunacy boils
In the ruse of treason
As the rhythm rigs
The corporeal bliss.

I've got a crayon in my hand,
a color for every lost syllable
There's a brightly scribbled drawing
to make my mouth and head reconcilable

I offered you a poem
Hoping it would help you see
The words too proud to speak aloud
A more authentic me

You didn’t need to like it
Never asked you to pretend
I chose to share my heart to bare
To my kind and lovely friend

You skimmed the lines so quickly
Crumbled paper on the floor
And with a glance cast it askance
Claiming poetry a chore

Through the careless criticism
Silence broke my soul apart
I became aware that you don’t care
About the contents of my heart

And so I learned my lesson
Closed our pre-poetic door
And as for sharing souls, my friend
The words they are no more

the calm rumble
of your heartbeat
against my temple
is enough to silence
a thousand storms