Magazine Posts

Softly, so very softly,
I say your name
to faceless people
and no one listens.
Alone, in a darkened room,
sits a unhappy man,
surrounded by his frustrations,
lying at his feet.
Rising above this state of mind,
seeing beauty, as it's meant to be,
talking, loving, touching people
with his life.
He becomes a better person, through loving
and by saying,
"Softly, so very softly,
I say your name,
to faceless people
and no one listens,"
except for me.

The darkness, my old friend,
Is back to see me once again.
That is good, a promise kept,
As it's been awhile since I slept.
Tired I am, there is no doubt,
That depression will cry and shout,
To gain a hold in this life of mine.
Fear not for my thoughts entwine,
With love, for all I know
That keeps this aged soul aglow.

Love can not be bought or sold
and is not for you to borrow
what does not belong to you
and give it back tomorrow,
for love runs away from me,
seeking others, for the morrow,
while sadness permeates my soul
drowning me in sorrow.

Soft are the shadows
under the trees,
splashed with the color
of new fallen leaves,
in Autumn.

A bird nest, perched
in the crotch of a tree,
vacant and empty
where life used to be,
in Summer.

Frosts hoary coat, covers
plants and the ground
with snow, against windows
makes nary a sound,
in Winter.

Soon, the cold bleakness
of Winter, will pass
as color and growth
return to the grass,
in Spring.

If you were not of this world,
I would worship you.
You are the star that guides me
through lonely day and night.
You are the light that turns
the dark into bright.
You are inspiration in my quest above.
You are my everything,
you are my love.

Your warm breath,
moist and scented
with peppermint
and last nights wine,
slips past my ear.

My cheek, pressed
tightly to your breast
feels the muted beat
of your inner life.

I dare not sleep
for if I do
when I awake
I'll not find you,
beside me.

You will be gone
from out my sight
and simply vanished
in darkest night,
while I slept.

Come my child and fly with me
to a sunny tropic isle,
where you can see red coconuts
and a purple crocodile.
Imagination is your friend
as we lift, from off the floor,
while spreading wings, beat quicker now
and we begin to soar.
Drifting through the clouds,
like puppets on a string
and wind with it's freshest breath
makes all our clothing sing.
Look down my child,
look down below,
beneath us, on the ground,
as we see trees of coconut
and hills made out of mounds
of chocolate, marshmallows
and other sweets to eat,
provided that you keep it
from sticking to your feet.