There’s not many Who could say They saw me through My darkest days When times were bad There’s not many In fact, there really Isn’t any Who had the strength To see me through There’s not many Not even you So know I’ll be fine…

marked and drawn   from on the mount eyes follow down marked and drawn they tarry forth and pray   a great cloud of dust breaks the line from going on marked and drawn

A vast expanse extends before me. As far as the eye can see. I watch the clouds glide slowly past me and feel extraordinarily free. I’m undaunted by the unknown, and I lack the wings to fly. I throw my arms wide open, to embrace…

the medieval faithful believed Spain’s Cape Finisterre was the end of the world and to sail beyond that horizon was to fall off the very face of the earth I stand on the rocky shore and feed the strands of my mother’s hair to the…

Got lost today Hopefully to find a new way A way through darkness To the light A way that flowers grow Swaying in the wind   I left prepared for the journey Everything I thought if needed Would be within arms reach Now I’m here…

You follow the trail, Quietly observing. Taking in all the sights and sounds, You close your eyes. Capturing the moment in your mind, Recording every detail possible. The quiet babbling of the brook, The chirping of the crickets being exchanged for the chorusing of the…

Only once have I spoken with someone who truly seemed to believe the world is flat With great sincerity he spoke of pie-crust geology keeping oceans in – like unbaked quiche When asked what he saw looking over the edge – ‘clouds. no idea where…

A mosaic of moors in tranquil twists Blankets of butterflies brushing moss filled rocks Streams temptingly trickle past pastel painted flowers Stars falling in droplets of lush light Nature serenading a serenity as it composes a melody of bliss

There’s nothing there; just emptiness A void so deep and dark That you could fall forever And never make a mark No stars to twinkle merrily No moons to show the sun Just a darkness made of black With nowhere left to run This is…

The grandparents I never met parents of the father I loved secretive though he was about them, him and them Grandma and grandpa died before I came along never even met my mother rarely were spoken of Mentioned only essentially names, dates – never more…