You’re back –
back in the game without a rooftop on the hill,
so all you can do is keeping climbing,
has carried over centuries to long lost poets
and scribes of the West who craved fresh water
and sweet air just as my lungs call out now.
will always be here, especially at the moments
you make it. You stride. The path leads up
to a perfect glow of light and you can perch
your pride on the line and call out, “I’m free.”
August 28, 2013
A friend, a true friend, I have
Seen today. No, she may not have the perfect
Plan for the future, nor the ideal collection
Of movies and DVD’s. Instead, she reads
Books – I mean lot’s of them, enough to fill
Her with a wisdom that speaks when she’s
Not thinking, a dream blossoming
When she closes those dark browns.
Yet, to me, today, she is pure perfection
Because she saw the truth in me; because
She looked me straight in the eye and said,
“You have changed.”
February 17, 2013
The words are etched out in song,
now – a tune I know so well I may pick up
the piano or guitar, strum a few notes.
But I’ll just hum along instead,
painting in my mind with gentle strokes
to make the river flow: shades of gray glide
swiftly over rough waves, a rippling current
of long, sad notes I once wished to perfect
on my own. But if I open my eyes and just
listen at moments of silence such as this,
I swear I can still hear those watered-down
words, gliding into the warmth.
September 21, 2012
Do you hear it, too?
That deep, dark hole that lit a fire in you?
Yes, dear, the one that started way back then,
when I was eleven and you were just ten.
All that walking and talking over washed babies’ cries,
without no goodbyes, or a mere tear in the eyes?
Looking back at the days that we spent in the sand,
and you would hold up your hand, and then make a big stand,
without a glance at the faces that grew from behind,
just like my goodbye –
the only room left for some stars and the sky.
July 7, 2013