so sincere

My love for you is bound like the hands of a prisoner
I am your innate
intimate; inmate
Keep me forever shackled to your heart
and be my life forever


the title of this poem was going to be 11:45pm
but I took a little time for myself
I should write about 12:52 more often and leave 11:45 alone.


- the doves

spirit drifting.. like a windswept rain
drum line of heartbeats.. prolonging the pain
where a smile once existed.. now a ripple across the lake
the doves read the Sanskrit and take flight in the morn
-  into an angel, my love is born



what to do, what to do o Lord
-  when the prayers and praise turn to
… side glances from those that lack anything to say
I do not blame them
when I lose the ability to communicate I feel crippled and feeble minded - I think that the only way to save the embarrassment is to be silent - the silence transforms my language into speaking/tongues - and from the tongue evolves a vision - a vision of never having to say goodbye to those that you love - a misconception based on insincere thoughts that somehow - someway - weave themselves into the tapestry of reality - like the tears that have carved crevasses along my profile…
…into the shape of sorrow
what would it be, what would it be
If my dreams
were reality

.::garden symphony::.

weaving in & around words like the g/clef of a trumpet blowing in the autumn breeze -
the trees have violins attached and to the flowers ...
a mandolin
together they perform a garden symphony to their love - a distant gaze from the window above - originating from a cathedral means - along a lane of brick and green -
when the sunshine ceases to shine and the rain decides to appear - the garden symphony ends - abruptly as the wind changes - and the pain closes in like the cold of winter - seasons of history lost with the garden symphony - memories have only paper remains and the sound has reason