Magazine Posts

Somewhere, deep within,
Among your innermost feelings,
Lies the thought of love.
Without sound or light of day
Love will lie in waiting.
Waiting for that time or place
And someone, who, in passing,
Will stop to while away their time,
With simple visitation
And stay the night.

What man lives
Who can write of things
That only God can create?

The wonders of mountains
Or the beauty of the morning,
The smell of the sea,
At evening tide.

The crashing of thunder
Or the breaking of dawn,
The setting of the Sun,
In cloudy skies.

Who is to wonder
At man, small in stature,
Small in accomplishments.

Go, I as a sinner
A man without feelings,
Towards all the others,
That have gone,
Long before, I.

I look across the room
And see, your face,
Framed by hair
Of yellow gold,
Smiling so.
An invitation,
To respond
To teeth of white,
Reflecting light,
Blinding my eyes.
Who are you?
What's your name?
Laughter echoes
Through the room.
I envy your happiness.

Clouds,
Touching,
Both sea and sky,
Blocking out the Sun,
While shadows,
Rule the land
And no one sees.

Inner strength
You may never know,
Nor may you expect to see,
That which hides within.
Your friends,
Few though they may be
While loneliness may pass you by,
You will never see,
Loneliness.

I die each day
And furthermore,
I am more dead
Than the day before.

Oh, elusive love
Where are you now?
Where is your hiding place?
Can you be found
In the eyes of children
Or in the tinkling sound
Of their laughter
Or looking into crowded rooms,
Will I see you
In the face of a
Smiling stranger?

I'm sure, that you both know me well
As I begin my descent to hell,
For I have tread this path before
And I have opened up the door,
Which has a sign of "No Admittance."

Nervous reaction from where I stand
Gives me a feeling of being in sand,
That trembles, even as I slowly sink
Towards deprivation and into drink
From which there will no end,
With no chance to amend,
To you.

I've dreamt a dream of puzzling things
And found myself, aloft, without wings.
In this dream, my mind was a muddle
For my head was lying in a puddle,
At my feet.

I envision waking up
In a dark and dreary place,
To find someone, throwing dirt,
Down around my face.

I suppose it would be,
Superbly bright of me,
If I would let you see,
How really foolish, I am.