It is a freedom of heart, 

A freedom of soul, and

A freedom of sadness.

A sadness for what it wasn’t,

But it was real in its own way.

A  way that only he and I could have chosen.

Unique to and of itself and the only way it could have been.

It was not like any other, not normal in any sense of the word.

A mockery of love and trust and

Short lived, like all the others before and those yet to come.

But it was our way, a way that refused to give up,

Refused to see the truth,

Refused to accept the inevitable,

And repeatedly refused the freedom it deserved.

So now, it has become another time and just another freedom waiting for relief in the shadows.

Another mockery of the truth and another love in vain.



Memory in Peace

That magic touch,

Remembered in pre-dawn darkness is

Treasured for the gift it was,

The memory it is, and the love it will forever hold.

It is odd how the sound of a train whistle, the barking of a fox,

Or the clanking of trash cans on the street corner can take me there again.

Sounds and actions so totally distinct, one from the other,

Yet completely connected in my heart.

The pre-dawn memory grows lovelier in the distance

Between us,

Until the distance is gone and the

Memory becomes the reality.

Time erases the distance and the anger until the space between us

Becomes filled with positive emotions and non duality.

There ceases to be a me and other, a man and woman

A lover and a beloved as all entities and emotions mix together in the space of a second,

In a dimension of sound and light and fuse into

One, the eternal, the transcendent, with truth at the center of its being.

And in this centered focus, once again, together, we experience the magic of the memory in peace.


April 2016

Plans in Silence


I can’t make it stop.

It won’t go away.

It stays and steeps

And hides behind the other.

It plans in silence

Until the silence can no longer contain its need and then…

Then it becomes too much.

It takes over, controls, sucks me back down and makes the need too much to take.

I know I give it too much power,

But how can I not.

It is what it is,

What it wants to be.

My opinion doesn’t matter, it never has.

I can’t stop it, I don’t know how.

I can’t learn the language.

This House


No one else has ever really lived here.

They have just existed between the walls.

Neither did this house ever live in them, but

I live here now and the house lives in me.

Peace exists here because I have fulfilled this house’s dreams

By giving it worth and meaning through my love, and it has done the same for me.

So now we travel through time together, no longer lonely.

We have been waiting for each other for so very long…

No one else has ever really lived here.

Sunday Evenings (re-post from 7-9-17)


There comes a soft sadness with

Sunday evenings.


A time of day that remains empty unless full,

Lonely unless shared.


One week’s ending is

Another’s beginning.


Just as his absence is just another ending

And his staying away just another beginning.


My lonely heart aches and

Forgotten tears fall in silence as


My memories of him are left to collect dust in the corner,

Their silence speaking volumes.


No one else cares,

No one else remembers, and still,

The soft sadness of Sunday afternoon silence

Continues without end.

Maybe I Don’t Want to Know

There is a voice inside,

A tiny one that speaks to me in the seconds before night turns to day,

Those hard seconds before truth and light floods out the darkness.

The voice is soft and lonely. I can never hear what it is saying.

And all too soon its time is up, the sun rises, and the seconds and the voice are lost in the light.

Maybe tomorrow it will speak up, maybe tomorrow I will hear it clearly and finally know.

Maybe I don’t want to know,

Maybe, maybe …