A morning sun swallows whole cold abyss.
Out of sunrise crawls forth another day.
Shadows in colds absence make way for this,
This place in time where playful daylight stays.
An eater of days gives birth to new dawn.
Its digestion is the passing of time,
And where once was silence there now is song.
Each days end, and I’ve heard too many, chimes.
Days pass, and I do not grow so tired,
That I may not rise and hold close each piece
Of my heart, and do so ’till expired.
Distant conclusion with so long a lease.
Devoured time and light and day now brings,
Value and reasons for my heart to sing.
Posted in On A Positive Note, Sonnets
Tagged abyss, chime, cold, day, daylight, digestion, heart, morning, poem, poetry, reason, shadow, sing, song, sonnet, sun, sunrise, time, value
She doesn’t know that I have seen her scars and
I have spent sleepless nights wondering how she got them.
More than a road map to pain, her blue eyes hide the tears they say
And there will never come a day where I can ask about them.
Her world is upside down, and he is there beside her.
All Of her restless nights, he sings sleepily to her.
I can’t tell if she’s still cold, I watch outside of this window,
She’s upside down, does she know, that I will wait for her?
There is no secret why she always wears her long sleeves
They all know and look away, all of them but me.
We both have the same scars, I know their roots may be different,
It’s been a long time since we could be called innocent.
Maybe one day she’ll see me and maybe one day she won’t.
Just maybe she’ll see how each of us, were broke.
Posted in Life (or something like it)
Tagged broke, cold, innocent, know, pain, poem, poetry, scar, she, sleepless, sleeves, wait, window
Each rolling wave, away it takes,
A different part, for its own sake.
Watching the tide come and go,
Watching the sand shift to and fro.
On my rock by the shore
I observe the sand.
Though I’m cold
I have no envy for the warm land.
On my rock I observe the ebb and flow.
Here I am safe
From where the tide decides to go.
Posted in Life (or something like it)
Tagged cold, land, observe, poem, poetry, rock, sand, shift, shore, tide, warm, wave
I long for the days to grow shorter.
The heat to fade and the cold to grow harsher.
Spring only leads to summer, and fall not close enough,
Throughout the year, too much tangled up stuff.
Give me the storms and rain and snow,
As long as their wind remains cold.
Until the sun grows cold and gives us less light,
I’ll pretend I’m sleeping, I’ll pretend it’s night.
Posted in Personal
Tagged cold, days, fade, Fall, heat, poem, poetry, rain, snow, Spring, storm, summer, wind, winter
She is awoken by voices,
She is alone.
In a strange place
She calls home.
Echoing off the walls,
In the midst of silence found,
They who have no name,
Each of their words resound.
She hates the silence,
It’s when they are so loud.
Whatever noise she can make
To ward off absent sound.
There is a voice she fears above most,
The one who, from the silence, boasts.
She hates his persistence.
She is insistent that he leave.
She fails and fails and fails again.
Any other voice from the din!
The many shout at her,
She does not give in.
But the one quietly calls,
From behind a door that’s cracked open
When the others leave.
He calls to her, her fears.
Things forgotten from across the years,
And then she remembers why
They were pushed aside.
Then in her heart
She deeply wishes the voices to depart.
And she hears
So softly in her ear,
“You will believe us absent, asleep,
You will rejoice in your soul deep.
You will forget what I tell you now
And you will remember each time we return our sound
You, in your fear, may not belong,
And we will never truly be gone.”
She closed her eyes,
And awoke alone; or so she was told.
She rose to the window,
And thought the sun too bright to be this cold.
Posted in From the shadows
Tagged alone, awoke, bright, cold, echo, fear, forget, gone, hate, home, loud, place, poem, poetry, remember, resound, silence, sleep, soul, sun, voice, window, words
The coming dawn, I know it to be cold.
From a distance: voices, faces, in mist,
Are illusions lurking, or so I’m told.
In their discourse, they wildly insist
That if they fervently wish to be real,
It is so. Without permission they lease,
Manafest strange feelings for me to feel,
These things that cause my worries to increase.
A cold path waits for me after waking.
The morning sun abhors my taking warmth,
And I find no heat from it worth taking.
They, in the mist, wish for me to go forth.
Nothing before me but my bitter end:
A garden of sorrow, which I must tend.
Posted in From the shadows, Sonnets
Tagged cold, dawn, discourse, end, face, illusion, mist, morning, path, poetry, sonnet, sun, voice
She holds the eye that freeze time.
She chastises cold and space and time.
While the world sleeps and passes by,
She stands in snow, under quiet sky.
As for the eye that she holds,
For now it shall remain closed.
Until the moment it opens and,
A moment lost, then held in hand.
Dedicated to my friend Carole D.