How meaningless life appears to be  
When Love withdraws its comforting ray;  
Harmony turns into entropy . . .
Chaotic impulses have their way

Though the sun rose to announce the day,
It matters not that it rose at all!
Darkness prevails when Love goes astray,
The shore weeps, though the tides rise and fall

Should a deluge submerge hill and dale,
Then oceans be scorched by the sun's breath,
Without Love, such calamities pale
When compared to solitude's slow death

Nowhere else in the vast universe
Can the harmony of Love be found;
So at every chance let us rehearse
Love's sweet symphony - Let it resound!

For Love is all that really matters --
And there is no doubt that life is grand
When that wall of loneliness shatters,
And Love walks beside us, hand in hand

Depression is like
A spear of ice
Stuck into your heart
Freezing you
From the inside out

Depression is like
Living in a world of shadows
No sun to warm you
Always cold
Always alone
You can hear people talking
But they sound
Distant and far away

Depression is like
Being half dead
You may be alive
To the world around you
However
You feel dead inside

Sometimes promises can mean everything and nothing.
I could promise you the world, but take that away a minute  later. My promises could tear you down, or lift you up. The simplest things could make or break a person.

She loves the music more than words,
While I'm caught up in sentences,
The nouns and verbs obliquely heard,
The slanting lines of innocence,
Too often at the end of nerves
To have our tongues make any sense,
With nothing more than broken words.
Mistakes are human, I've been told,
Forgiveness from a greater soul.

She says the songs don't sing her name,
And poetry has scant appeal.
She sings.  I write.  We're not the same.
And yet our kisses make a seal.
With time gone south and winter near,
I  wish your legs, your lips were here.

Why is it that petals fall from the rose,
Leaving only thorns upon the stem?
And why do lilies bend low to the ground?
It's so out of character for them

Well, roses know when love has deceived,
The petals they let fall are their tears;
Strangely, flowers can sense love's fickle ways,
In their own way, they vent mortal fears

And when lilies are seen bending their heads,
You can be sure they're in deep despair;
Love has once again shattered someone's heart,
Setting dreams adrift on sullied air

But Love will not be held accountable,
A free spirit -- thus it must remain,
Bringing unbelievable happiness,
Or rendering unbearable pain

And so I just glue the petals back on,
(The rose thinks my tears are morning's dew);
While I run a wire through the lily's stem,
I lift its head, and say "This love is true"

O, I'm aware such folly has its price --
Pretense stains life in a somber hue;
But when Love dons a dark, deceitful robe,
Just what is a broken heart to do?

So I start each day with my hope renewed,
Yet, anticipating old sorrow;
Full well I know as long as this life lasts,
A new love will find me tomorrow

And my life goes on - it's a brand new day,
Another rose is starting to bloom,
As I wait for petals to fall -- and they will,
I'll plant more lilies -- just in case -- if there's room

The lake is empty
Except for the bubbles
Of the bottom feeder

~for those who will read this and weep~

the quiet ones,
the silent Job ones,
who quote not from the
Book of Lamentations,
but author their own,
based on-the-job experience

localized versions of cryptic elegiacs
accepting the wooden crosses borne,
stepping up to the
unrequested unforeseen,
then buried under, burnt alive,
yet never relieved by dying,
nailed by words, stronger than iron,
promises sworn, promises kept
with no ending date relief,
promises by and to themselves,
but not for themselves!

the wearers of crystal glass shackles,
adorned with decorative locks for which
no key did the maker make,
nor any divine creator
dare conceive an early release,
never no escape contemplated,
for the lock human, unrepentant unbreakable,
a decorative useless metaphor gesture,
a blunt “life *****” advertisement

I compose amidst a
bus pond of mismatched city folk,
a tapestry of ages colors and differing views on god/no god,
none would believe that as the bus sways me,
it’s in rhythm to holy choral music,
hundreds year old,
divinity masses and motets worships,
where one human can hide temporarily
a safe house,
to calm his questioning relentless
from the horrors of no answers,
for when the mind has no solution
to the rough and tumbling lives,
lived in glass shackled confinement,
the poets desperation equals theirs

summon eagles to transport these imprisoned,
but the shackled refuse,
I come to them but they wave me off,
I go crazy for once I was enslaved,
thirty years war that left devastation,
from which so many poems created

so I speak with heightened regard
of one who planned futures for others where his
non-existence was a founding father (ha!)

but the day came and
I was released by my own inactions,
but means nothing until a way to
away found
to release the yet bound early

got a couch, airline miles, hundred dollars
in my pocket and an unrelenting need
to save them, a consumption disease,
the glass shackled, at ease,
won’t rest till all are freed
this my creed
no one left behind

these cyber words do not mock
for they are unbounded, set free,
when
the flesh connects and the needs of the flesh
are stronger for they are in heart conceived