Drowning his soul in music,
Staying under until the last melody is relief,
Or at least until he's numb.
Heart frozen,
Mind and soul becomes troubled,
Innocence gone.
He's baffled.  
Can he find love under so much pain?

Pick me up.
Pick me up
and let's drive.
Let's drive away
and never look
back.
Let's talk about
everything that's
kept locked deep
in the catacombs
of our hearts.
Let's trust one
another,
just you and
me.
Grab my hand.
hold it tight.
Spill all.
I'll tighten my
grip, as goosebumps
appear on our
arms.
I'm here,
you're here.
We shouldn't worry.
I won't let you go,
if you don't let me go.

I no longer think that ill always love you
But I will always remember what it felt like
And there is no one to blame but yourself
I didn't want to fall out of love with you
Im not heart broken anymore
Im just over it
My heart no longer beats faster when I hear your voice
I don't panic when I feel like Ive lost you
Im tired of loving you
You took a heart and made it ice cold
Took a innocent girl and showed her darkness

When I meet your eyes
Wagner's thundering drums
fill my ears in a burst;
the symphonic waves
wash over my whole body
as I trace your skin
and the strings soften
into a delicate prelude,
simmering in my chest
as I breathe you in.
It's almost unbearable,
but the building sensation
of the sweeping harmonies
is intoxicating, all-consuming,
just as the feeling of you against
my skin and the warmth of you
on my tongue; the vision of you
from above, utterly devours my senses.

I've lost another dear friend,
Another kindred spirit,
To the culling of this worsening
****** epidemic.

No more new poems
Waiting in my inbox.
No more just checking in.
No more redemption.

Just another empty hole
Pierced through our lives
Taken by the tip
Of a needle.

I am finished trying to draw water to satisfy my soul,
from holes that cannot quench my thirst.
I try to draw water from holes of different names.
From friends and family.
From the words and approval of men.
From temporal pleasures and materialism.
But they cannot quench the longing for Love
in my thirsty soul.
I am like the Woman at the Well.
Tired of going to holes that I think are wells.
Trying to draw water.
Walking away still thirsty.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Then...
My Saviour and the Lover of my soul
comes to me.
And I drink from Him.
My thirst is finally quenched,
and I will never be thirsty again.
For He is the Living Water.
He is not an empty hole which dries up,
sending me away still thirsty.
He is the Love which my parched soul needs.
He is...
the WELL.

She's somewhere far away
sitting on her porch
watching the sun sinking behind the church tower
alone
breathing the warm air
as another day of her life
is going to an end.
80 years and no smile wrinkles on her cheeks
her forehead still a history book
where lines of war and struggle
are deeply written.

Her eyes full of colour,
her heart
a room where hope and sorrow
constantly fight against each other.

Her voice, a joy to hear
though it saddens me
knowing that she goes to sleep as the sun does—
lonely, in a dark, quiet infinity