Winters Breath

In the midst of busyness

how can one feel

so alone,

lost within

old memories

of times past,

shadows that linger

growing long

as time is measured

in the suns travels,

and I reach up

to touch the sky

finding once more

that feeling

of your kiss

upon my face

warm,

even as snow falls

and winters breath blew,

now phantom lips

haunt my day

and you are gone,

I sit here

in silence,

hidden in shadow

Late Summer

Summers heat lingers

leaves turn rusty brown

mere wisps of their selves

once alive and green

now hanging limply

no bright colors to be seen

we have made sure of that

with toxic air that withers

so that the trees are unsure

whether they should live

or go down to the dust

Early Morning

There are a thousand stories to be told before they are lost in the wind. Each story contains a glimmer of the true self, the one hidden by the scars accrued over a lifetime. The bitterness that comes from a lost love, lost dreams, lost desire, the losses we wear to cover our hearts true nature. In the early hours, before the sun has risen and the world is quiet, if we take a moment to sit in silence we may hear that small voice calling us to strip away those layers, to lay naked once again before God.

Birth of a Poem

Turn off the noise

settle back

listen to the quiet,

there it is,

that poem,

so long buried

one I’ve overlooked

now I write

not perfect,

it has lain dormant

buried deep

that I know

it is messy

but in this silence

sipping my coffee

words

burst forth

my fingers type

and this natal poem

takes it’s first

breath

The Watch

Watching, waiting

it’s what we do

watch and wait

Listening for footfall,

across the shiny hall

Whispers loud

Shoes squeaking

elevator doors

swoosh

open,

then close

no one gets out

silence

solid as a wall

our dreams

broken like waves

upon the rocky shore

watching, waiting

it’s what we do

listening for that footfall

waiting.