Something New
I roll out of bed
and hit the floor moaning
Yes, it can be said:
How much I hate morning
On a Saturday yet,
When I’d normally sleep in
But, a challenge I’ve set
And now it begins.
The Uninspired
I’ve tired to inspire
The uninspired
Wasted words
Wasted ways
Wasted time
Just to play
Feelings of an empty shell
A starlet that fell
A love to sell
Common thoughts to see you through
Fought with fight
In the dead of night
A love not right
Darkness of light
Another moon to see
For lovers, but not for we
A love that I just couldn’t be
So it disappears for me
In The Beginning
The cool breeze caressing her skin the butterflies mingling within. Her heartbeat like the bass line his fingertips were the lyrics. It was like a quiet storm a trouble brewing within when feelings started growing and they were no longer friends. In The Beginning
Going Home
With the morning comes hope
With the morning comes a new start;
A loved one no longer in pain
A family no longer apart.
For up in Heaven the angels dance
As Jesus comes forward to say;
“Welcome home, child, we love you so”
We are all God’s children, no matter our age.
Haiku
Reluctant fog clings
to seductive night waters.
Sunrise sends warning.
9am
I immediately stood
The morning had come
I was fresh
Renewed
Clean
Unaware
Of what will come
Ironically it hit me that this is how everyday is
We never know what words will come out of our mouth each hour
I lay on the deck
Flipped through the thesaurus
I am a vessel of letters…
My Favorite Color is Soul- Mate
Our souls frolicked, in the fields of the first shades of purple,
the thousands of years seemingly flew,
nothing short of the whisper of a butterfly’s wing,
to the thundering pulse of the hummingbird’s fleeting flight.
We grew old together,
before we grew up,
before we were born.
We hid sunrises in window sills,
sacred stories sewn in the beams.
Every morning became a dream,
every night lasted forever and a century.
You became my favorite color,
in the star-studded sky and cloud-filled day,
I find you in a new shade: soul-mate.
Overture
There it is.
The threshold.
The starting gate.
The point of
contact.
Clean gold.
Awaiting ignition from some spark of
imagination.
Everything-hinges-on-this-moment-in-time.
And this one.
And this.
Not even awake
Not even awake
six a.m. Has come
sleep is no more
yet it is
it is the nobility of dawn
the integrity of doing
what for me
has not ever been
done before
9am
I immediately stood
The morning had come
I was fresh
Renewed
Clean
Unaware
Of what will come
Ironically it hit me that this is how everyday is
We never know what words will come out of our mouth each hour
I lay on the deck
Flipped through the thesaurus
I am a vessel of letters…