I keep my poetry
                         On  the edge of my tongue            

            Like dew on the edge of a leaf
                       After the rain

                     Patiently waiting
                                with exquisite beauty
                                      
                          
                                     ­ To

                                          F

                  ­                           A

                                                L

           ­                                        L
                    Where I would like to believe
                         You'll be waiting patiently like grass

                                                                ­                            On a happy spring morning
          
                                            For me to land.

I know I am as weak as I allow myself
And as strong as I make myself
For that is the truth of weakness and strength.

there was a moment in time
when death sat beside me on a park bench
and he had rested his hand on the gap between us

i,

too,

rested my hand there
and brushed my fingers against his

and for a chaste moment
i savoured the warmth of his skin
and intertwined my hand with his

but he stood up

and left

and maybe he knew,

it was for the better.

Why do I want to run away,
As if far away, I would be there with me...

Silence is the language of the souls.