Fell for the man
Awed by for all
Tangible could be a roam
Entreating a home

When your voice
Escaped the clutches of the night
I held on tight
In vain

Your eyes that hid under the curls
They've become traces of you

To a girl I once knew
You're only a memory away

Slow us
Lord, that we watch our ways
And about turn
To Your face.

Sunrise, breaking
Is like a distant friend
Returning
From a long sojourn.

Of late:
this "silence" conceptual haunts,
an irregular daily daunt,
coming evenly but oddly timed throughout the 24 hrs.,
writing Psalms and Sonnets demands sacrifice, sweat,
tears, no blood as of yet,
   but who's to say, that it will
not be eventually requisitioned

in my life,
there are long intervals of intramural silences,
when afforded,
the art of contemplation assumes templar control, and my senses
to overdrive go

somber somnolent,
ironic that,
in the periods of deep surficial calm, creation is raging
in the fibered tissue of my neuronic cells, and though,
outwardly still, my heart chest pounding me to emit the
inner contents and context
of the 4 W's  of every moment of my existence

(who, what, when and why)

the quietude of silence
is never whole, notions fly in, runabout, then depart, without a word of farewell, leaving not a trace behind, and the potential poems shrivel into stillborn drivel, leaving only an undisputed but an undistinguished stain, a fact that they was, were, conceived, but the mind's  body was not fertilized sufficiently to see them nurtured to expulsive birth fruition, a less than subtle reminder that even and every state of being is regenerative even unto the very last breath,
when it is no longer...

At the end of a path where no voices reside,
I walked where the dusk and the silence collide.
A flicker of light called soft from afar,
Like death in the shape of a delicate star.

I followed the gleam with no map in hand,
Each step was a whisper, each breath was unplanned.
Carved in my skin were questions I hide,
Written in scars that I wear from inside.

I dug through the dust in the cracks of my chest,
Hoping to find where the aching could rest.
I tasted the rope, the cliff, and the sea,
Each one a door that might set me free.

There’s a hallway ajar but it leads to no place,
An echo that weeps in the shape of my face.
The sky doesn't answer, the moon only stares,
As I try to dissolve in the weight of my prayers.

This isn't a plea, nor a scream for the light,
Just the rhythm of lungs forgetting to fight.
And maybe, one night, I'll quietly learn—
How to leave without leaving, how to never return.