It is empty
Like a pocket without a hand
A heart without love,
A soul without a creator
My arms without him.
Tag: poetry
Freedom
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.
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 …
A Lesson in Truth
Peace Trees, their soft edged shadows grow with the season
Becoming silhouettes that blend together in summer’s lushness.
They grow and soak up the sun, turn it to life and
Feed themselves and my soul with green.
Peaceful trees; a lesson in truth.
No One Ever Told Me
No one ever told me.
Or maybe I just didn’t hear.
No one ever held me.
Or maybe I just didn’t feel.
But no, that’s not true, I did feel, but I felt inside,
Away from the words and touches.
Can you open the door and see that?
Are you strong enough for the truth?
Am I?
In Tribute to “Educating Rita” being performed by the Saco River Theatre, Buxton, Maine
A stage of two.
Words sounding off each other.
The world replayed in syllables and looks.
Small adjustments in time and hearts,
Tell the story of love in silence.
Always Broken
There comes a time for change,
A leave it all behind kind of change,
A back-lit stage leaving of sorts.
An abandoning of soul, but
With a reservation in eternity.
Only the collective experience of two remains in
A lost place, a place hidden in time.
Where The ticking has stopped, daylight has faded to black,
Pictures have come and gone and
All is left behind, but never forgotten.
So the story continues. The players change but in the background, heart and hurt remain the same.
Same feelings in different colors, awash with love,
But always broken.
Ever Changing
December snow still remains,
Its essence uncovered by the spring melt.
A leftover from the beginning of the season,
It holds on, clutching the earth with icy fingers.
What was a soft powdery snow is now compressed with the weight of winter
Into hard, cold, sharp ice crystals.
Wanting to melt, it looks forward to returning to the earth to begin the cycle again.
It won’t be gone long as it will be back as summer rain and autumn frost.
Ever changing yet always remaining the same.
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