She feels no confusion
in her glance toward his eyes.
Eyes deep blue
as a mountain lake.
She senses comfort
across her
chest, like the first time
her cheek touched his
bicep when they walked
enmeshed.

Now feels so warm,
soft on the mind
for fear has
fallen to the trail.
Renewal of trust
fills her heart.
Now feels
like the first time
again.

She fashioned him an enigma
who strolled through life a closed book
unaware of his charismatic aura
She fashioned him an enigma
Her showy courtship ended in drama
He remained blind to the effort she took
She fashioned him an enigma
who strolled through life a closed book.

Many masks he kept in play
heedless of her passionate love
He continued his mysterious way
Many masks he kept in play.
Her ardor she could not betray
nor stop praying to God above
Many masks he kept in play
heedless of her passionate love

Trapeze rhymes with breeze
It ends there, tis' not a breeze,
To fly a trapeze

Wear shows along each seam.

Stitches obtained through toil

and sewn with needles of obligation

well-intended for those in need.

How could her nimble fingers

stay still and silent

in the face of their distress? 

Toll-taking efforts
cast with love

nonetheless burden her shoulders

and incite pain from long hours

spent to ease the lives

of those she loves. 

Woven too is her hard-earned

impermeable shield-
her hard-learned revelation
that she can dwell free

within her mantle.

There was never the thought
"I should be like them."
Uniqueness was desired
and a distinct path
until a fork in an unworn trail
became a call to another direction.

Unheeded were voices shouting of
things, material goods,
destine to rot behind you
as you ***** through the valleys.

Tromp on a course to mountains
few shall view.

First snow
The world is white
In color only

She never noticed
books of poetry.
Her life was busy
with empathy
for those troubled
from pains scratched
on psyches from
neglect, abuse
or sacraments to fallen Gods.

She seldom heard music
except when,
heartsick from lost love,
she wallowed in vain misery
or during her youth when
hit parades blasted from
solid state radios
in dashboards, or from
jukeboxes flashing
come hither.

She thought little of flowers
nor paused to note scents,
shades or grace on
stems of green.  Her head
was busy with
important matters,
day-to-day grinding
away on work or play.

Now alone,
she absorbs whiteness from
clouds,  motion from birds,
or fragrance from flowers
with senses dulled by
age, injury or illness.
She sifts through her
day looking for
fresh tranquility.