It was the storm of a lifetime. The storm of the century. It fell fast and it fell hard, and now you are too full of salt and water to hold yourself. If you don't open the flood gates, if you don't let the tears follow the rain, the dam is going break, your heart will break with it, and everything you've fought for will be washed completely away.

“My heart is in pieces,” she said.

“So are the stars,” I replied, “the most beautiful things always are.”

Darling,
you’re not falling apart,
you’re getting rid of the pieces
that no longer serve your purpose.
This is surgery of the spirit,
and it can be painful as hell.

You can't make a flower bloom.
You can shine all you want
but it won't open
until it's ready.

Hope.
Follow it
wherever it takes you.

It's the only thing
in this world
that will
give you
a fighting chance.

One day they will arrive
unannounced and unexpected,
they will love you
in all of the places
where you have been unable
to love yourself,
and it will be either
the most beautiful
or the most terrifying experience
that you have ever known.

Yes,
you will rise from the ashes,
but the burning comes first.

For this part,
darling,
you must be brave.

I woke up with a deep longing
to nourish the seed of my dreams.
A near life experience.
A vision of love
just beyond the horizon.
I reached for the stars
and burned in the sun.
I drank from the ether.
Showered in darkness.
The tide of emptiness receded,
washing clean the shores of my soul.
I harvested passion
and prayed with the meek.
I sang for you.
Cried for you.
Gifted my heart
in a box made of spirit.
I sacrificed beauty
to send you my kiss.
I cried to the heavens in silence.
I wailed to know you.
Begging forgiveness,
petitioning God.
"Do not let the sands of time
slip through my fingers."
"Do not let this yearning
pass to the fray".
My heart now beats into
a void of eternity.
My silence completes me.
We are now one.

If I could change the winds of time
If I could measure the winds of change
If I could send you the breath of life
I would fly with you in the warm summer breeze
But all I have are these words
Alone in the dark with the company of thought
Waiting for the sun to rise
Waiting for the storm to break
Waiting for the chance to finally know

When your heart is filled with emptiness
When your spirit is the void
When your soul is wrapped in darkness
Seek the stars inside

The hardest words
I've ever written
were a riposite "farewell",
a chapter left unfinished,
a blank page in my book of life,
set aside for you

If ever you resided within a chamber of my heart,
Know that it still wears your decorations of affection.

The crafts we built of time,
The wrinkles in the draperies,
The tearstains in the carpet,
That used to bring us comfort.

I may have changed the locks.

Shuttered it to yesterday.

But late at night,
When all is dark,
When silence falls upon my spirit,
My inner child,
A forgotten hope,
A life we birthed and buried....

Cracks the door,
From time to time,
And sparks a whispered vigil,
So light can touch the splinters
In the plaster of my soul.

A faded house of love...

A place we once called home

Maybe,
Broken people
Attract other broken people
Because their pieces
Look like pieces
We have lost along the way.

How I love
The smell of aged books.

They carry hints
Of teardrops and laughter
From lovers
Who I'll never meet.

Don't love me harder.
Don't love me louder.
Love me softer.
Love me in a whisper.
I need to see how gently
you can handle my heart.

There were teardrops
in her eyes
which never reached the surface.
Like frozen ponds
in springtime,
waiting for the kiss
of sunlight
that would set them free.

What joyous thing in this world does not break the heart?
What failed body can not be painted into a joy through the eye of the artist?

The universe itself is nothing more or less than the love of the one divine,
Shattered into infinity.

The scales of the soul pivot upon your medium.
Woe and levity are weights upon your balance.

When the tempest strikes, does not your well replenish?
Is it not the winter freeze which breaks the seed to sprout in warmer days?
To the wheatstock,
harvest is the gentle hand of death,
but to the shepherd,
it brings life when days grow cold and dark.

All things of wonder,
And all things of beauty are passing.
All things broken,
And all things remade.

The question is not whether love,
In its magnificent nature,
Fractures the heart,
But whether those cracks upon the spirit let the darkness seep in,
Or the light seep out.