Close Your Eyes and Listen

Before I disappear into a fine mist
clinging to your cheeks on a night
where the moon mourns the loss of an angel;
I want God’s tears to remind you
that there is love after loss,
and peace after chaos.
I want to leave my words to the wind,
calling softly to your delicate ears;
a song sung in a code only you can define.
Let it carry through every pore, every crevice,
feel the tickle of their syllables
flow silently into your entire being;
Relish in the sound of a broken soul
piecing together every scrap fallen
on its way to deliver such a message.


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Love Wins

For you, my love,
I would run confidently into battle,
disarmed,
and ready to exclaim our truths
that they will not acknowledge
without force.
I would bring a flower
to a gunfight,
just to prove my loyalty to cause,
a war without blood,
only us,
and victory amongst all odds
aimed against us.


Check out my new book Penny Poetry, now available on Amazon!

Honeybee

I caught a whiff of the final rose
when following a trail of wilted petals,
on a search for a place to heal
the damage caused by running
through thorns.
I found you behind emerald vines
clinging to the sills of open windows,
tending neglected flowers,
in a garden with little hope
of regrowth.
And I knew that this
was the beginning of forever
for a broken honeybee.

In Love

I could say it, yes
form the syllables of that expression,
But I could never describe
or represent the feeling.
It is beyond its letters,
and exceeded its uses.
It is more than this,
More than us,
And no matter how hard I try,
How much I write,
I could never tell you
what it truly means
to love you.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

Heaven Called

I used to believe in heaven once.
Once a time
the sky would split between the clouds,
the sun shining in large beams
to seemingly no end.

I used to believe in heaven once.
That the gods smiled down
through these holes
as they brought another admission
to their plane of existence.

I used to believe in heaven once
Before the ground split beneath me
and I was forced to view a fire
that rose and fell
as if a heartbeat struggled against
the ground’s ribcage.

That night I witnessed a hell
that would hold me in its arms
and singe my flesh
with agonizing comfort
for how many years to come.

“When hell freezes over,”
he whispered to me from a gravelly throat.

A challenge disguised as an insult,
I took in my fist and strode on,
torn and bruised,
making it my own promise.

So now I sit,
telling my story of triumph
of how I was admitted into the heaven
I once believed in
once a time
before I knew you were the existence
I’d so longed to see.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

With You, I See

You are the soft glow
of my bedside lamp
in the quiet hours
between dusk and dawn;
The moon through the cracks
of my blinds still drawn;
The smile of light
that allows me to paint
the words caught bouncing
between the empty spaces;
Allows me to express
the feelings demanding
respect in the silence.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

One-Track Mind

I look at you
and I do not think about
the songbird playing a tune at dawn
or the marigolds sprouting
along the base of the fence.

I do not think about
the closets stuffed with skeletal remains
or the hallways littered
in the ghosts of past residents.

I look at you
and I do not think about the pain
needed to suffer
to view the beauty in nature’s movies.

I see only you,
a model perfected by the hands of God
in a simulation where the choice is ours
with what to do with the connection
from creation to this moment.

I believe only in a heaven
that spawns us in the same world,
and into the paths of arms
wrapped tightly
around the promise of forever.

I think not about the surrounding,
but your smile,
this tunnel vision commanded
by the programmer
that made a one-track mind
the only right
in a world of wrongs.


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!

 

Life Before Death

I ask the crow to sing a happy tune
and flash it’s pretty feathers;
To fly in the aroma of the flowers
watered and tended to by us.
I ask the crow to sing a joyful song
despite it’s cries;
To disregard his image of sorrow,
and instead rejoice in the garden
we rise in the middle of the desert.
I tell the crow of life’s limits
and ask him to celebrate with us
the promise of tomorrow
in the color
of all we’ve grown tall;
To relax
in a beauty too great to overlook.


Active writing contest, found here!


Check out my book, The Four Stages of Poetry, available on amazon!