Category: All

Steal me…Take me far away
Steel me…Make me forge with fire
Feel me…Touch and hold me near you
Fill me…Drunken with the taste of you
Need me…Want and wait to see me
Knead me…Push your hands deep upon me
Cash me…Spend me till I’m dry
Cache me…Hide me like a treasure.

Deep I look into the mirror
Of my innermost self, seeking
In every hidden,
Protective crevice of
A vigilant subconscious
For truth and knowledge.
When my search ends each day,
It is impossible to express with words
The something of the marvelous,
Which is total sublimity.

Might There Be?

Might there be worlds we haven’t dreamed of,
Places where dreams are secret hiding places
Where lovers go to kiss the moments away
And time doesn’t matter because it never was?

Might there be soothing melodies to sing of
How the power of love can make beautiful traces
Of movements and motions that will always stay
Binding and forging a love the way God does?

Might there be such passion we haven’t heard of
A Love so powerful our hearts read our faces
To see if truth and virtue seed a unity unbetrayed,
In idle dreams of secret worlds, sipping sweet framboise?

Michele I’ll tell
Is made by Mattel.
Is it one or two L’s?
Michele or Mattel?
She’s a pretty little doll
Who made me fall
Into her wishing well,
And Swish! In love we fell!

When good fortune was her morning song,
She never felt guilt nor shame
For her complicity with happiness.
Unconditional love was the melody of her will,
And she loved life for the special moments
Of the morning when the stillness of the night
Still hung in the air, merging slowly with the
Golden breaths of the dawn.
In early morning observations of love,
She constructed memories
Sealing them away tightly for tomorrow.
The future promised her an ocean of memories,
And the lingering loneliness that comes with old age
Would flicker dim before the melodies of her past.

What is the measure of a qualified life?
How good and long will I be without strife?
The well oiled lamp burns a great length.
A well built lamp burns with great strength.

I lift up my eyes to you, Meagan,
as the eyes of slaves Look to the hand of their master;
I lift up my eyes to you Meagan,
as the eyes of slaves Look to the sands of the desert of God
I lift up my eyes to you Meagan,
as the eyes of maids Look to the hand of their mistresses,
and
so
our
eyes
Look to the Lord our strength,
as our love Looks to the dove of our hearts.
for if God is our strength, Meagan is our hope.

there stand now three within a circle perfect,
a girl into the hand of night screams…
a man into the thorns of brush shrinks…
a figure into the pasty light runs.
the street lamp flickers once, long in time.
the figure under the pasty light shrinks…
the man under the thorns of brush screams…
the girl under the hand of night runs.

a fist is clenching, blood is rushing,
expectation is failing…
pushed back by familiar hopes forgotten,
calumny is betrayal’s reflection.
someone stumbles through dampened leaves
now lying in pools of pale blue light as
mirroring eyes close contrite.
forlorn, last sounds flood the yellowed street
with ghostly echoes gently yielding
hearts a’weeping. thus, ends the night
where lie now three outside a circle broken.

love is worth all the tears
love is worth facing all the fears
love is worth counting the cost
love is worth leaving nothing for lost

Love leaves its trace
Whenever she enters my space.
Slender beauty and grace,
Mark her mysterious face.
Her favor to gain I race,
Anxious to receive I pace.