Speak once of lightening,
soft on clouds of grey.
Hear not of thunder's
might beyond the sea.
Sunlight's rays do
brace the standard of
pure and rare
while windows break
beyond the beating rains
of soul's despair.

Would you love me still if today meant forever? When the edge of what is and what could have been are resolved into what is good enough? There I find you--my broken dream. These places in my mind, do they exist as more than mere fancy or illusion's call? I was so afraid to be alone, and with my fear I pushed you far aside. So I wait for you in the night, my broken heart, to cut through my silenced dreams with the strength of hope emboldened within your form.

What do we do in those moments when words abandon us? What do we do when we are left not with comfort and surety, but the complex presence of thought unrealized?

What do you do with the unspoken idea? That which you hold to be good and true and real but which is interrupted by our own being?

Passion

True Passion does not end with a climax or begin with a suggestion. True Passion is alive always within one's soul.

Beauty is but the preference that the mind speaks to the soul and to which the soul returns with an answer.

I make the promise to always return to the other side of the mountain. Eternally, I cross to the far river bank. But to which side of the river and to which mountain valley will my promise remain unfilled?

Who is the master
of such paint and plaster
and who settles his seige
by his worth?

For wisdom and laughter
don't always come after
the artist has envisioned
new birth.

My love is not a game.
It is a lullaby
that rings sweetly in your ear
the meanings that my heart has wish to fulfill.
I don't know what I don't know.
But I don't fear anything.
I don't know what I don't know.
But I can't face that now.

What happens
when breathing stops
for a day?
When the intoxicating
sweetness of life
without air
clears your head
for the first time?
By holding my
breath I know I
must die.
Quell the existence
that I have always known.
But what would I
want to live for
if I can't have this
moment forever?
Walk with me for
a second.
Dream with me
for a year.
Stay with me
for an instant
before I breathe again.

Dragon

Is this how the dragon feels? Contained within her cage? And when she leaves her lair she becomes the black dot moving throughout the land?
Is this how the dragon feels? Cut off from her home. Not daring to go out for misery's disgrace amongst the once familiar land?
Is this how the dragon feels? At once completely whole, now a part onto herself, only in her mind.
Is this how the dragon feels? The frustrated passion for life quelched under a misunderstanding both personal and trivial, aware that if clarity could only be known then the world would again turn into the fields of sun covered dew?
This is how I feel. I feel as the dragon feels.
When I wake up in the morning, will the world be set right? Will the vision be whole? Or will I find myself again in my cave of damp and dark? Will I find myself again as I am today?

Why, says the butterfly to the flower, do you taunt me so?
Why do you use your beauty and your grace against me
only to help you grow?
Why should you use my graceful legs and fluttering wings
to further your intentions?
Why should your beauty only be used
to further your own aspirations?

And so responded the flower:
Does the earth ask the sun why all it does is give?
Do the fish ask the stream if in it they can live?
If all the world did just one thing--to look out for itself,
Then what of beauty, glory and goodness would be for us that's left?

I am

While you are a polished amethyst, I am an uncut diamond.
While you are a farmer's fresh plowed field, I am the open hills.
While you are a river and a lush, green bank, I am the ocean and her embracing beach.

So while you fit perfectly into the life that you have chosen--while you may look to all the world to have the answers--the peace and serenity of a choice existence, just remember that life is more complex than that and the potential that I have within me is far greater than any facet can shine, any field can reap or any stream can travel. Though my edges may be unhewn, my terrain rocky and my waves may crash, of me there is no counterfeit to be made, no fence to bind and no dam to stop.

Does tomorrow shine
with the promise of today?
Or does a promise
lack the truth which
would prove the
rising of the sun
in the west rather than
its eastern round?
What is promise but words
of intention which may
or may not
be found in reality's base?
What are words but meaning?
And what is meaning but
intent to be?
Which word will be found worthy
and true
and form intent
into being?

Hope is
for another day
the treasure of tomorrow.
Take me back
to the place
where poetry ruled
my life.
Where music played
and my heart knew
only warm sun.
Take me back
to that time
before clarity dawned.
Before the leaves
turned cold
and Mother Earth insisted
on her continuous change.
Speak to me
once
of love
and of life.
Whisper these words today.
For today
I wait
in wondering awe
waiting for the dawn
to cede grey.

Hiding behind glass panels
as you speak the words
of hidden irony--
The meanings of which
wish could turn to truth.
You find yourself wishing
for the self that you are in that
instant when the sun
hits the glass and you see your
brightened expression
illuminated by its rays
before darkness leaves you
again in the solitary openness of
your blindness--
the beauty so close and yet
untouchable.

A dream that's spent
On Sunset's morrow
Is forever lost in time.
For words and thoughts
Are Life's flesh arts
But action is divine.

Friendship is when you choose to live your life alongside someone else. It is when your life is no longer independent of others and you agree to merge your interests with theirs.

What will I fight for,
if not another day with you?
When the tides roll in
And strength is gone
I make my final stand.
Make it known
to the world
That to this course
I am true.
For what will I fight for,
if not another day with you?

And when you're in those quiet moments by yourself, who are you? When silence is your companion and you're left to think, to be, what is it that you become? What is it that you think? Are you the person that you believe yourself to be? Would you recognize you?