Night so pure, clothe me in your darkness
Let my feet be light upon the ground
Oh stars of beautiful light, let me see
Where my one true love is found.
Silent night of music holding,
Lead me to our place of keeping
Moon so bright of truth unveiling
Let me not find lover weeping.
Quickness of feet and steady moving
Fail me not in time of need
Humbled heart for lover looking
Please dear Lord, let me succeed.
Oh my head of sense is spinning
My lover found will speak no more
Moon light finds my lover sleeping
Here upon the forest floor.

You're so close
Though we're not touching at all
And I feel you breathe against my skin.
Your heart is the meter to my life
Its beating times my stride.
I see your soft lips that trace my face
So lightly
It's as if they never did at all.
A hollow feeling
Unsatisfied
Yet contented that you're close by.
Your breathing is the only sound
I feel your fingertips on mine
And I long to reach for more.
Why so far away?
Why not envelop me,
In all of you?
I long to have all of you,
And I reach out to touch your face
Just to realize the breathing was my own.

The moon casts a strange shadow upon your face this eve
Your eyes look weary of days long and full of sorrow
But it is in a distance I can see your figure still and unmoving
As if from the grave you came forth to see me now.
Be not so still that I cannot see your loving form move closer
It is with despair I look upon the terrifying sight
As if a premonition of the future had opened my eyes
I see you now in ghostly shape on this beautiful autumn night.
Hold back these tears! A torture for my own folly
To have warped this beautiful moment into a vision of anguish
I can hardly hear thy sweet voice whisper to me,
Over the sound of shovels against cold clay.
Hold me back from trembling, my emotions so intense
I feel my body wither as if an evening primrose
Exposed to the intense light of bitter truth
Feeling as if forever hangs a veil between us.
My heart reaches for your touch, a fingertip apart
But my body cannot respond to the shock endured
Glad to see your figure finally moving
I shake the thought away, and think of it no more.

The clock is not ticking.
The hour hand is severed from the mechanism,
The minute hand suspended forever at three minutes
Prior to whatever hour you’d like to supplement.
The second hand shows signs of life
Arrhythmically jerking to the right
When no one is aware.
The flow of the meter is dance-like,
Compound time with no boundaries
To measure beat.
There is no year to speak of
No influence of culture
No place to hurry to
Or reason to worry about
Allowing your heart to keep
The natural rhythm to measure your life.
The clock has been broken
For who-knows how long –
There is no reason to fix it.
Your time is measured in breaths,
Your worth is found in the Lord.
Not lost, nor slipping away,
But rather finally alive.

There is an old oak which sits formidably
Upon a tangle of spindly wooden arms
Which reach above from the grave
In the middle of a field
Otherwise totally barren.

The sun casts a shadow across the land
And just before it reaches its highest point
The shadow shows an unreflective image
Of a tree full of foliage.

At noon the shadow sinks into the earth
But as the hours pass, a new image occurs
Just as deceptive as the first,
Whereupon you will see the tree’s branches dead.

Whispers that the devil’s curse
Effects that half which so strangely
Refuses to mirror the other
Traverses between the two hills
Which make this town a valley.

It was the man who made his path
By endearing the hearts of the people
Who did see at this place
The last image which was burned into his cornea
Never to be seen.

No one could have guessed
That such a caring man
Was not the image he himself projected,
But it is the silent tears of an aching woman
Which would expose the inner soul.

For a time there was no sign
Except the scar which traced the woman’s face
From each tear duct
To the softened line of her jaw.

It was after the children had headed back
From their school houses
When she walked with light heart
Across the field, and headed home

As her mind considered the feeling of the breeze,
The freshness of a new school year,
The rich golden color
Which crowned the intricate web of branches above,
She was taken by surprise.

A pool of crimson covered the ground
In the shade of the oak tree
Which after the dry summer season
Quenched its thirst

The day following, the traveler was seen
Whistling as he walked
Across the field, with his belongings in hand
Stopping to admire the color which contrasted
Perfectly against the blue sky.

With a satisfied air, he left
Continuing in the direction of his original path
When suddenly, he stopped –
As did the mechanism within his ribcage
Which counted the seconds of life left.

When the spring season returned,
The tree no longer contrasted the sky
In all its glory, for one side no longer grew
And in the wind, the people fantasized visions
Of a man hanging from the southern limb.

The image isn't reflected
It is backwards,
Upside down.
A mirror -
In reality clear glass.
Alternative ending,
Like a nightmare
Everything is the same
But with hidden motive.
With clear vision
The two are obviously
Opposite.
The truth is buried
Behind lies.
If only the hiding place
Had been found
But the hand had reached
And turned the light out.

Stumbling through the dark
The idea of home seems
Comforting
The delusions which cloud the mind
Fill the emptiness
And answers the questions
Creating artificial light.
Easy enough
To mistake the small circle of heat
Which radiates from a bulb
With the encompassment
Of a roaring fire
When you never before
Experienced - warmth.
Desperately seeking,
The compromise seems
Excusable.
The only regret is this -
Blinded and tainted
The true flame,
Invisible
Because a glow had cloaked
The darkness,
Was not found sooner.

Time apart makes all things
New - a nervousness
An excitement
Needy and naive
The memory of your touch
Fades - but not the intensity
Of my love

Checking like clockwork
The departures and arrivals
Heart thumping
My poor vision
A true handicap
Scanning the masses
For the most familiar face
In the world
Of whom I know
The span between my thumb and index
Is the same as your chin to earlobe
And my finger could trace the shape of your lips
From memory alone.

When my eyes
Settle upon your face
My hard heart beat
Hits slow motion
And stops -
Everything runs through my mind
But I think nothing at all
Reach out.
Kiss.