Best In Morning


Image

 

I love you best in morning…
In that quiet hour
before the sun fully rises
and the shadows of the night
linger possessively;
as I lie motionless
beside you
watching
the seductive blush
of a new dawn
filtering slowly through
the frosted windowpane,
caressing you in those last
moments of sleep
with warm fingers of light.
It is in that
special time,
that magic time of morning
as I, too, caress you
with my eyes
and with my thoughts
that I love you
best

 

Do Not Be Afraid


embrace

Do not be afraid
to lose yourself in me.
My hands are strong,
yet gentle
and, if need be,
I shall carry you
within the calm shadows
of my love.

Do not be afraid
to laugh with me;
the warmth of my love for you
I gather from the
rainbows of your smile.

Do not be afraid to cry with me
when life overwhelms you;
I will gather your tears
within the well of my understanding
and pour them carefully
upon the fires of your fear.

Do not be afraid
to live with me;
I will build for you a home
with floors of tender mercy,
Walls of compassion,
ceilings of hope,
and windows of promise.

Do not be afraid
to die with me;
I will lead you through
the dark forests of your doubt
until the bright meadows
of forever rise beneath our feet
and the cool waters of eternity
swallows our souls, together.

My Slow Descent


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Pressed beneath the broken rhythms of solitude
Stumbling drunk within intoxicated wavy parallels
Of self-derision and unbridled rage against lost time
A shattered vessel of my mother’s dreams
Absent when the arch of forgiveness bends mercifully
Over purpose-broken and diminished men
My unwinding days a gentle push toward the grave
With nothing left to secure my grasp
Pulled asunder by the wrath of fallen angels
When the shadows of my sins, like a burial shroud
Wraps me tightly, a corpse descending
Into the darkened void of eternal sleep.
This, then is my slow descent; tossed upon a funeral pyre
Engulfed within damnation’s perpetual flame
Condemned for lack of conviction as the cold winds
Of judgment kick up and scatter my weightless ashes

 

Nostalgia


Image

In my mind’s recess, a soft caress
of memories and days gone by
A kaleidoscope of love and hope
And answers to the “Why?”

I fall within and live again
Those magic days bygone
My thoughts set free in reverie
Warmed by a setting sun

Another time in perfect rhyme
Now formed in my revision
I’m lifted up as I fill my cup
With reflection and a vision

Within my dream, or so it seems
The best of times has past
Yet still somehow, I cherish “Now”
And tighter still my grasp

Outside my mind my thoughts unwind
And now today returned
Living in yesterday is still no way
To face the future’s turn

 

Sisters in Silence: an Ode to Brooke


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Your meaning falls
like a silent waterfall pouring
over polished stones,
continually filling the well
of my heart with a perfect understanding.
Your hands are busy
painting words across the sky
the sparkle in your eye
provides the “what” and “why.”
It shatters my heart
because I never heard your voice
If I could give you anything,
I’d give you a choice
To whisper, just once,
all the dreams that you hold
To know that I love you,
if my words were so bold.

In your quiet moments,
I hear you louder than
one thousand angels
singing their lofty hallelujahs.
Without a word spoken,
the wall of silence broken,
Without a word heard,
you communicate more
wisdom and compassion
and joy than will ever
be found in the
incessant mumblings of those
who speak
but do not seek to be understood.

With your pen,
you push light across the page
dispelling the dark
from those who can’t know
how in art
you give us a glimpse of your soul.
with a pad and a pen
you erase my thoughts
your words are contagious,
when all that I sought
was to hold you and love you
with all of my heart.

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Heart and Soul


rose

The heart beats strong for what it will
Yet still I seek to master
My thoughts within or outward spilled
Inviting sure disaster
The love I seek, or hope to keep
Isn’t mine to choose
The sweet delights and dreamy nights
Are only mine to lose
Our soul is but an open door
Through which flows passion’s fire
Though oft’ ignored, it stands much more
The beacon of my desire
The heart bestows on those who know
That love is never what it seems
The arrows flung from Cupids bow
Pierce the few and far between
Be still the beating of your heart
And to this verse stay true
The heart and soul both play a part
In bringing love to you

 

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My Pagoda


pagoda

 

In my next incarnation,
I will dwell in a house
with a roof that curls like a smile.
Nestled in a flush of empurpled trees
and luminous clouds -
paths winding up
the velvety-green mountains
and ninety-nine steps
upward to my teak-carved door.

Shivering, I will rise in the morning,
blow on my hands like coals,
and squat to make tea in the teapot.
Slowly, the aromatic leaves will fill my heart
like a cup, the tea swirling,
knowing more than I know.

In the room’s far corner,
an altar, a few flowers, incense.
Buddha smiling.

My visitors will carry bright offerings
But how little will be necessary!
Like a beggar’s bowl,
each day will be full and empty

 

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The Tiger Flower (A True Fable Dedicated to Christian)


Christian

This is a short “fable” I wrote inspired by the incredible story of the daughter of Author, Christine Nolfi as told in her wonderful article “The Woman I Raised”  Please take a moment and visit Christine’s post at http://christinenolfi.com/2013/04/the-woman-i-raised/ (Part of her continuing series on The Celebration of Women!

—————————–

The Elder Women of the villages spoke of a legend; they told a tale of a rare and exotic flower that grew in the dense lush jungles of the Philippines. It was said that no other flower existed like it anywhere in the world. No one had ever seen this flower live, for it was said that to actually see it, one had to be a True Believer and to date, none of the Elders could remember such a person ever coming to the islands.

Yet, although no one had ever seen one, everyone on the islands knew its name: it was called, quite simply, the Tiger Flower.

While the islands were full of bright, sun-dappled meadows dancing with flowers of every imaginable color, the Tiger Flower grew alone, somewhere deep in the jungle beneath the dark tangled palms and fronds.  At its base grew three distinct shoots, huddled diminutively beneath its protective pedals.  The three shoots needed the Tiger Flower to survive, and the Tiger Flower needed the three shoots to give it purpose.

In the depths of the jungle, no sunlight could penetrate the dark tangle of palms and fronds, but the Tiger Lily, it was said, survived because it had Fire in its veins.  Despite its estrangement from the flowers of every imaginable colors dancing in the bright, sun-dappled meadows elsewhere on the islands, the Tiger Flower was not a jealous flower, nor did it consider itself a victim.  It  fought each and every day simply to survive, and to ensure the survival of the three distinct shoots huddled diminutively beneath its protective pedals.

One day, a very special Woman arrived on the island.  The Elder Women knew she was special because she wore beautiful flowing robes of Compassion and Understanding.  On her feet she wore bejeweled sandals of Hope and Promise. She was full of Light and Laughter. She was a Weaver of Words, a Story Teller, and a Poetess.  They called her  “Mother” because she was of the Earth and full of Nurture.  But they could see she was one more thing as well.  One more very important thing:

She was a True Believer.

You see, she had come because, back in the World, she had a dream of the Tiger Flower. When she closed her eyes tightly in Faith and Unconditional Love, she could see the Tiger Flower, there deep in the jungle beneath the dark tangled palms and fronds, fighting for meaning.  She could see at its base three distinct shoots, huddled diminutively beneath its protective pedals, fighting for survival.  In her Dream of Dreams, she knew she had to come to the islands to bring the Tiger Flower and the three shoots back to the World. To bring them back into the Light.

The Elder Women of the villages led Mother to the bright, sun-dappled meadows dancing with flowers of every imaginable color, where it met the edge of the depths of the jungle, where no sunlight could penetrate the dark tangle of palms and fronds.  They watched as she disappeared into the darkness.

Once more, Mother closed her eyes tightly in Faith and Unconditional Love.  She did not need open eyes to lead her, for she had her Dream.  She walked deep into the jungle, and when she had walked an hour or so, she felt the air rush from her lungs and a single tear of joy fall from her closed eyes.  Slowly, she opened her eyes and there, beneath the dark tangled palms and fronds, she saw what she had waited her whole life to see: a Tiger Flower, surrounded by three distinct shoots, huddled diminutively beneath its protective pedals.

She kneeled gently upon one knee, and with a Kind and Loving Hand, she thrust her fingers into the soft earth, careful so as not to severe the island’s Heritage from the flower and the shoots, and she lifted the flower to her bosom in a warm and tight embrace.  Slowly, and with Patience and Enduring Love, she carried the Tiger Flower and the three distinct shoots, out of the jungle, back to the World, and into the Light.

——–

Nearly twenty years has passed since Mother returned from the islands.  The Tiger Flower has bloomed fully in the Light and is now a beautiful young Tiger Lily, dancing in sun-dappled meadows.  She named the flower Christian, for she was truly “Christ-like” in her own growing abilities to Forgive and Love and Nurture others into fully flowering.

The three distinct shoots, too, have blossomed, in every imaginable color.  When they are older, she will tell them of the Elder Women of the villages, and of dense jungle and the dark tangle of palms and fronds.  But for now, she is content to see them all Dream their own Dreams.

oh, how she cares for me


embrace_by_agnes_cecile-d32c9nw

oh, how she cares for me
suffers my moods
and prepares for me
a life full of love
and warm tenderness
forgiving my faults
with a soft knowing kiss
she hurts when my dreams
are awoken and shattered
and tells me she loves me
and none of it matters
when I fail in the moment,
she patiently waits
‘til I gather myself,
and she won’t hesitate
to lift me up
when I’ve no strength to rise
or, when I wallow in doubt,
she’ll look in my eyes
and gently remind me
of all that I am;
she’ll hold me and whisper,
“you know that you can!”

you rescued me


rescued
you took me in when i was broken;
bound me up with soft words spoken
healed my pain with a gentle touch;
held me tight when it was too much
dried my tears with your velvet hair;
showed me just how much you cared
you offered hope when i had none;
and warmed me better than the sun

you sheltered me when i was alone;
whispered words i had never known
and took away the worst of me,
then filled my life with ecstasy
you gave to me the best of you;
took broken dreams and made them new
you gave to me so many chances;
and overlooked my circumstances

i had built myself a one room home
and dared to live there all alone
no windows out from which to see;
a lonely, empty destiny
you tore it down and rescued me;
unlocked my soul and set it free
you lifted me beyond the stars;
took the universe and made it ours

There’s An Answer To Your Dreams


Sweet_dreams_are_made_of_these_by_Dream__Window

There’s an answer to your dreams
Though it’s never what it seems
If you reach into your soul
You’ll find the path to all your goals

Let the pain and sorrow fade
The path to happiness is laid
And the joy and love you seek
Will be placed before your feet

When you feel you can’t survive
Let your heart then be your guide
For it beats with endless truth
All your fears then gently soothed

Know I’ll lift you if you fall
Hold you close and give you all
The gentle love you need to rise
To overcome and learn to fly

Trust that love will come along
Give you strength to carry on
A precious gift that makes you whole
And heals the sorrow in your soul

You have the power to survive
All the emptiness inside
If you simply trust your heart
You’ve had the power from the start

There’s an answer to your dreams
Though it’s never what it seems
If you reach into your soul
You’ll find the path to all your goals

We Are Gods


gods-love

We are gods treading boldly
upon a blue-green marble
beneath a sprinkle of stars,
tossed upon a blue-black canvas.
We blow creation, like a kiss,
from open palms, fingers spread
like the wings of a butterfly;
dreamers who paint visions
upon the granite walls of time.
We whisper songs to angels
while dancing upon mountaintops.
We tread upon the oceans
in wooden shoes with billowing sails.
We laugh and cry with equal measure,
pouring our emotions into silver cups
bejeweled with love and compassion.
We embrace the hour of life we are given
but rejoice in the infinity that follows
and the lifting up of fallen loved ones.
We are gods who sing and speak
with honey on our tongues
the endless verse of truths
and seek a simple understanding
that guides our celestial journey.

We are blood-soaked warriors
who have slain our brothers and sisters
in the name of false religions
for He that stays His healing hand
amidst our pain and suffering;
for He that weeps into the clouds
that rain upon our crimson sins
and washes clean our inequities.
We are gods who daily feast
upon the abundance of our fortune
while the world’s children
wither on the vine and fall like
rotting fruit upon the earth;
flowers that never fully blossomed.
We stop our diamond-pierced ears
to the screaming of poverty and injustice
and look directly into the sun
to blind ourselves to the horror
that stretches upon the horizon.
We are gods without wings
falling from grace and into
the waiting arms of Death.
We have wrapped ourselves in
the burial shroud of indifference.

Lady of the Night


moon-like-face

Her face is frost etched glass
floating in the blue-black winds of the night;
She illuminates footsteps hushed
on decayed and dampened leaves,
and grieves for freshly planted souls
who have turned from the light of day.

Her midnight corset is tightly laced
by the dazzling tails of falling stars,
and she moves in phases
with the hushed and tempered grace of a
childless empress wandering forlornly
through the cold shadows of winter’s garden.

She seduces the wolf and the poet with
equal ambivalence, each of whom
compose for her dream-soaked arias
and haunting sonnets that speak of
promises which will not be kept.

She mourns her powdered reflection
as it ripples across frozen lakes, and
hides behind silver-lined clouds when
she can no longer bear the loneliness
of her shadowy journey across granite
mountaintops and sleeping meadows.

At last, in the cool, grey light of morning,
as the sun softly caresses her porcelain
cheek with warm fingers of breaking light,
she sighs but once, then slowly fades into
the rose colored blush of a new day.

Love in a Coffee Shop


woman-drinking-coffee-in-restaurant-outdoors

She’s not the kind of girl
men see across a smoky bar
and write songs about.
There is an uninviting sadness
in her dull blue eyes,
downward cast,
washing out the sparkle of
her tender youth.
Yet, I’ve sat here all morning
casting furtive glances above the
flipped lid of my computer,
drinking in the realness of her,
sipping the lukewarm resignation
that hangs upon her like a
torn burial shroud.
I am intoxicated by the way
she breathes slowly and with
lost purpose; how she twirls
a lock of her dishwater blond
hair with her forefinger,
the nail of which is bitten
to the quick.
Every few minutes she looks
off into the distance
with a blank and distant stare,
perhaps daring to dream, broken,
of a life that might have been.
I know, in that way of knowing
the permeates you to the core,
that she has lived, and felt, and
loved, and lost, and somehow
found the strength within herself
to carry on.
I also know that I love her,
she who I do not know
and she who no longer loves
in return.
She’s not the kind of girl
men see across a smoky bar
and write songs about,
but she is the reason
poets anguish into the night
to capture the authenticity
of true love and broken dreams.

Dreams


dreams

Dreams infused with wild abandon
Dancing naked in the midnight rain
‘Neath Cupid’s bow I drift below
Pierced with joy and free from pain
I’d rather feel what isn’t real
Than the waking loneliness I bear
When I’m awake all but dead
Alone and frigid in my bed

Each night I seek within my sleep
A bright and burning sexual flame
To find perfection in sleep’s deception
Stark-naked passion…so sweet insane!
These lovely dreams may be so fleeting
Behind clenched eyes two lovers meeting
But morning thrusts a waking sorrow
So from these dreams my pleasure’s borrowed

Perhaps one day, when daylight rises
I’ll share a real and lasting love
She’ll lay and rest upon my breast
While songs of angels I’ll sing thereof
But ‘till that day, like roses bloom
I’ll toss and turn from night to noon
For fools like me, or so it seems
Can only love within our dreams.

The Speed of Life


old-age

 

I’ve threaded the needle once or twice
And paid the price for my sacrifice.
But now old age has tempered me
I’m not the man I used to be.

When I was younger, or so it seemed,
I still had strength and hopeful dreams;
With youthful promise I fought for love -
Reached for the heaven and stars above

Countless days lost in desire,
Lived to set the world on fire.
But now my time has much diminished:
Where once I started, now I’m finished

Youthful dreams do mock my nights
I now awaken to winter lights.
My life unfolds in finite measure,
Robbed of all the things I treasure.

The circle of life has run its course,
And to this point I reinforce:
Don’t lay to waste each given day -
For all too soon we fade away.

 

Beyond the Blackened Veil


Homeless Man

The long days,
the forgotten nights,
have left me scarred and depleted;
I’d consumed my fill
of sour cabbage and cheap whiskey
and slept on damp piles of rotting leaves,
wrapping myself in regret and self pity.

There were, of course, lucid moments;
when the wind would caress my cheek
softly, like the touch of an angel,
and in those moments,
I made vows not meant for keeping.

My coat, now threadbare
and reeking of last night’s vomit and rain,
has been my home;
I dwell deep within its folds,
seeking some comfort there
and finding none, toss it to young mulatto boy,
who will be dead before winter finishes lashing
his heroin scabbed flesh.

But listen, my friend -
I have known joy and love,
and those in copious measure,
when I was young and foolish enough
to believe that even the wilted rose retained her charm.
I have lain with princesses and chambermaids
with equal passion,
the rusty moon of autumn casting
night shadows upon our secrets.
I once handed out ten dollar bills
because the roll in my pocket was so big
it chaffed my thigh.

Now, the cold jingling of pennies and a nickel
mark the cadence of my stumbling gait.

In my youth, and folly, I read Yeats and Eliot
and took solace in their pretty tomes;
they hung bejeweled words around my neck
and filled my boyish mind with infinite possibilities.
They lied, of course,
but still I welcomed the deceit
and even scribbled a few haughty poems myself
on love and other falsehoods.

Don’t misunderstand…
I do not rail against the imbalance of life.
Some ride the festooned dragon across velvet skies,
while others bathe in the shit and piss
of their miserable existence;
and certainly we will all go down – together -
beneath the broken sod.

Today,
I just look for a patch of yellow grass
upon which to lie down,
close my blood stained eyes,
to catch my final breath
and let this bitterness go.
I have no fight left for this life or any other.
I am weary and resolved that there are
new worlds and better poems
beyond the blackened veil.

My Pagoda


pagoda

In my next incarnation,
I will dwell in a house
with a roof that curls like a smile.
Nestled in a flush of empurpled trees
and luminous clouds -
paths winding up
the velvety-green mountains
and ninety-nine steps
upward to my teak-carved door.

Shivering, I will rise in the morning,
blow on my hands like coals,
and squat to make tea in the teapot.
Slowly, the aromatic leaves will fill my heart
like a cup, the tea swirling,
knowing more than I know.

In the room’s far corner,
an altar, a few flowers, incense.
Buddha smiling.

My visitors will carry bright offerings
But how little will be necessary!
Like a beggar’s bowl,
each day will be full and empty

Awakening Our Memories


SirMaxHotAirBalloon2

We shall sail through the air a thousand country miles -
watch the falcons pirouette in the summer sky;
lunch upon bitter green apples and fermented mangoes
and nap beneath the cool luminous clouds;
quench our thirst with melodious wine
and toss stones down upon frozen lakes.

We shall immortalize poets against the echoing granite walls of time.
In bare feet we will land and dance in verdant green meadows
that carpet a bottomless valley;
trace our fingertips along the gnarled grooves
of a dying oak and bid it farewell.

We will bathe in babbling brooks that giggle at
our nakedness and dry ourselves in the wispy autumn winds.
Upon mountaintops, we shall squeeze sunsets between
our forefinger and thumb and slowly open them again to
the shimmering glow of a new moon.

We shall sleep beneath a canopy of universes and compose
our dreams against shimmering stars;
build wet sandcastles fit for kings on foreign shores
and feed them to the ravenous surf.

Beneath cascading waterfalls we’ll write tumbling
verse, while angelfish nibble at our dropped metaphors.
In the Mascarene Islands, we will fly kites built from
forest reeds and raffia palms until they are swallowed
by drifting winter clouds.

The return to a new day awaits us, and a thousand more
miles beneath our balloon before this life is drawn complete.
Awakening a memory, we close our eyes
and the colors of life’s possibilities explode beneath our lids.

Amber Waves of Pain


I made my bed on an ocean of glass shards
floating upon the undulating waves of incomprehension;
bourbon-soaked dreams sliced open and bleeding life’s meaning,
though it really depends on how hard you punch the veil of reflection.

I fell face first into a wall of glass.
Left with scars beneath my skin, jagged slices of nothingness
to rub my blood stained fingers over in that pain-filled comfort
where drunkenness sometimes seems like a good idea.

There always comes a point where I think I can stumble along,
the darkness isn’t so dark, the demons aren’t so scary, right?
It’s time to get off the merry-go-round
someone spliced to a rollercoaster,
only I forgot to notice ‘cause I was too busy going ‘round in circles.

It’s like breathing in asbestos that’s slicing through my lungs so hard
I can’t breathe, can’t think, and can’t be!
Pain has never felt as tangible as right now;
I’d do anything to make it stop,
anything to go back and find fermented heaven again.

But it keeps hitting like seven years bad luck
with perpetually bloody knuckles.
While I deliberately forget about the glass shards
imbedding themselves in and under my skin
until I’m at risk of bleeding to death, more glass than human.

The Ocean’s Song


I.
Sitting on the bay, watching the ships go by;
Where they are headed, I don’t know, yet
My soul yearns to be likewise swept away
With the outgoing tide upon undulating waves.
Beneath blustery clouds let the extended bellies
Of white sails carry me across new horizons.
Beneath the crested waves, the mermaids sing
Siren chants of, “Come with me. Come with me!”
The baritone bellow of a ship’s horn
Blasts out, “Come with me, Come with me!”
II.
Icy winds caress my weathered face,
Each wizened line etched like a nautical map
Directing me toward tomorrow’s fortunes.
The salted air fills my aching lungs with a
Hope I have not known since childhood.
In my shoreline reverie, I am carried across
Blue-green oceans kissing distant coastlines.
“Turn, screws, turn,” let the waters churn
Beneath your tired and weathered hull
But do not leave me dry standing here.
III.
I yearn to drink the white foam of stormy seas
Beneath a blanket of heavenly constellations.
I do not care today for tomorrow’s sorrows
So long as I can castaway in the iron belly
Of a eastward steaming long boat.
I am now lost in the maelstrom of indifference
Upon these sandy shores, and my eyes
Are filled with the tears of a sailor’s regret
For having missed the outward tides.
“Carry me out. Carry me out!” and let the
Fish one day dine upon my happy bones.

Of Waking Dreams


I had thought myself awoken,
though in truth caught within a waking dream -
you lying naked and warm within my
fevered embrace; your arms but
tender branches cradling my desires
and youthful anxieties.

The gray and veiled mist of morning
dusting your trembling salted lips, and one
kiss to melt the dew; each breath
an exhalation of promise and possibility
.
Silken strands of your fragrant hair
run in random rivulets across my pillow;
Your porcelain cheek presses lightly
upon my chest, and I cannot but
weep deep within my sleep as I
drift slowly upward through the ether
of my dreams.

I am awake now, as
my midnight reverie quickly dissipates,
and all the worse, I am alone once more.
Cursed dreams and cursed more the waking
thereof – for I cannot suffer this loss nightly,
nor will I ever love as deeply.

Omnipresent Love


If flowers bloom when summer ends, their fragrance rising, too,
These I, on bended knee would give, and even more to you.
Celestial stars and distant moons I’ve gathered up for thee -
And as the angels sweetly sing, profess your love to me.

The tides should rise and surely ebb with every breath you take;
Each heartbeat to mine own entwined, a passion full awake!
Softly pressing palm to palm, our fingers tightly laced,
Pulling closer, closer still, a warm and tight embrace.

Each minute to the hour unwinds, and still the night unfolds
Timeless and eternal as we lay in sweet repose.
The morning comes on the rising sun, our love in warm reflection
Whispering low, we are even so lost in introspection.

Such is our love, so tightly stitched, the seams appear transparent -
And to the world our vows are writ in verse now made apparent.

The Speed of Life


I’ve threaded the needle once or twice
And paid the price for my sacrifice.
But now old age has tempered me
I’m not the man I used to be.
When I was younger, or so it seemed,
I still had strength and hopeful dreams;
With youthful promise I fought for love -
Reached for the heaven and stars above
Countless days lost in desire,
Lived to set the world on fire.
But now my time has much diminished:
Where once I started, now I’m finished
Youthful dreams do mock my nights
I now awaken to winter lights.
My life unfolds in finite measure,
Robbed of all the things I treasure.
The circle of life has run its course,
And to this point I reinforce:
Don’t lay to waste each given day -
For all too soon we fade away.

Sandmen and Lovers


A lover’s dream
is seldom
a place of rest.

To seek solace
in night’s slumber
when the soul burns
so very hot with passion
is not only the ambition
of fools,
but a senseless surrender
to the merciless whims
of faceless and taunting sandmen.

Sandmen are noisy, impish
creatures of the night;
creeping elves of mischief
preying without remorse
upon any Romeo
who would foolishly seek
the false serenity
of love-drenched sleep.

Sandmen are always laughing,
as well they should,
at the provocative union
of love and dreams.

The temptations are too great.

Beware then
torch-bearers of unspent desire –
never surrender
frustrated consciousness
to the trust and care
of such cruel artisans
such as those
that paint your dreams.

Lost Innocence


Like a child’s lost innocence
that time and nature steal away,
without the slightest reverence
or sympathy for child’s play.

So do we, in love’s all knowing
pay once more this price for growing.

We brush away our young one’s tears
when life becomes demanding,
and offer in those tender years
a gentle understanding;

Yet we as lovers, slaves to passion,
lose our touch for such compassion.

We dream as children, trouble free;
careless nightly visions
as children’s dreams were meant to be
before life’s cruel revision.

That lover’s can’t makes perfect sense
for dreams belong to innocents.

Our children have so much to teach
and we so much to learn:
that childhood beyond our reach
is innocence lost, and common sense earned.

Life must demand this sacrifice,
but still, it hurts to pay it twice.

Do Not Be Afraid


Do not be afraid
to lose yourself in me.

My hands are strong,
yet gentle
and, if need be,
I shall carry you
within the calm shadows
of my love.

Do not be afraid
to laugh with me;
the warmth of my love for you
I gather from the
rainbows of your smile.

Do not be afraid to cry with me
when life overwhelms you;
I will gather your tears
within the well of my understanding
and pour them carefully
upon the fires of your fear.

Do not be afraid
to live with me;
I will build for you a home
with floors of tender mercy,
Walls of compassion,
ceilings of hope,
and windows of promise.

Do not be afraid
to die with me;
I will lead you through
the dark forests of your doubt
until the bright meadows
of forever rise beneath our feet
and the cool waters of eternity
swallows our souls, together.