Many people see
stars in the night sky.

while i see only a
graveyard,

and candles
still aflame on the graves,

even though they are
long extinguished by the angels.

For granted..
the first breath as your soul awakens.

for granted..
youth, childhood,days we cannot recapture.

for granted..
the act of kindness you neglect to acknowledge.

for granted..
your family, your friends in times of need.

for granted..
the smile you wish that you had repaid.

for granted..
a birds serenade at the crack of dawn.

for granted..
Mommy's and Daddy's , their unconditional love.

for granted..
not saying goodbye when you had the chance.

awakened by the soft murmur.
beauty gradually unfolding.

old gothic buildings, staring like steal and concrete giants.

the harbor bustling against the azure.

i've always enjoyed walking town alone.
a recluse with poems in pocket- some better than others.

sparrows fluttering about the mist.
the old age reincarnated.

miles of coastline...
one of the 7 wonders.

seagull cries echoing through wooden foundations.

i'd like to press my heart against the scenery -
so that i might implant my soul within this naturalistic view.

after walking for hours, i decided to grab a seat on a small bench.

i stared off into the blue and white foamy nothingness.

there must have been hundreds of people that walked past me.

oh!
how badly i'd like to spark up a conversation,
but no one sees me.
except of course,
the sea.

When i told her that i wanted my last breath to be in full view of her stand alone beauty,

she smiled and
then began singing a hit song of yore by "the police" to me;

every move you make,

every step you take,

every breath that you take,

i'll be watching you.

dreams
    do
   speak

but

ink
pens
scream


  last evening's images while asleep

    woke me up at a quarter to four

   captive, this dream was only for me

   i fell back asleep ... my subconscious yearned for more

ink to paper, this dream one day i might,

   share the sugary sweetness of this
  dream's
delicious delight

When the dawn cries

   the blues

      the yellows

         the reds

             the oranges all sleep

Grey has a very demanding day in front of it

     each cloud a water color masterpiece of black and white

         the palette omits purple intentionally
    
             this day of grey has left me black and blue enough

crisp and cold green leaves are no more

         to the brown earth they have fallen

there is a chill in the air

            ....winter draws near.

a rapid flowing
river i may be

but ....

please,

please don't
miss out
on your
chance of

stopping-

and getting
to
know the
poet in me.

Some people care when a poet dies,

visible by the moisture running from their eyes.

a poem is a conscience,

a report card,

a confession.

today my words turned the sun to clouds then into rain,

words at times that seem to ease the pain.

how can i taste what i’m mourning when sorrows door opens without warning?

when soon everything will be salt from the sea,

and riding the waves of eternity are me.

be sure
to enjoy
your dreams
because
reality
is harsh
enough.

after
waking up
this morning
i once again
realized that
i was
someone else.

Morning stars together sing
as jays of blue
take flight on wing.
The breeze is limp
as oaks stand still.
The greying sky with rain now fills.
A rainbow falls
upon the ground.
A colorful thud without a sound.
As nightfall crawls across the moon.
I stir my coffee
with spoon in June.

just
think of
all those
before you.

now you,
you
have
been here
too.

"Synergy"

The synergy of life and death often destroys my soul's calmness of being.

Mind you, factually,
it is not my own death,
nor my own mortality that stirs
bewilderment and melancholy within me.

It is the road ****,
the spider on your wall.

The baby bird that has fallen from its nest.

The ant in the path of your rapid gait on the sidewalk.

The meat that I selfishly indulge upon.

The innocent murdered,
aborted children.

The sea life that mysteriously washes up upon our shores.

My dilemma?

I genuinely take it personal that I can not save any and all.

Is this a Jesus Christ complex?

I'm not sure what it is!

What I know is that every day of my existence,  
I torture my own soul for not comforting a dying soul.

This IS a genuine emotion that lives within this man's soul.

I mean, I am so[ooooooo] flawed and imperfect - a natural born sinner.

But alas,
I am the soul that only wants to share smiles, hugs and my unconditional love with those that not tread upon evil.

I stand and kneeling confused, in front of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ with all due respect about the synergy of life and death.

I say that I am tired of torturing myself over this part of life that I absorb ever so deeply every waking moment of my life but....

if tomorrow is given?
Tomorrow I shall take and live.

Albeit wounded,  yes!

But perhaps like these words, Jesus wants me here to move friend or foe.

"EoP"