it has never been easy to be me,
living in the darkness of unforgettable,
unforgivable and unforgotten moments.

nothing can erase the horror, the screams
of dieing children, the faces of bewilderment
and death that look at me daily, asking why.

I am dead in that part of my heart, tattered soul.

no one can help me, it is my nightmare forever.
it claws and tears holes in my dream for peace.
it is ferocious, it is unceasing, it is a scar upon
my life...it never heals, a festering boil that awakens
me in sweat and terror, it is my devil calling.

I was young, but old enough to know.
will I come face to face with them, when I die.
what will I say.

will they forgive me, as I can not myself.
will they be there, waiting.
will they let me live in my death.

you are sweeter yet than
any dream kept waiting,
and I am drenched in the
sleeplessness of you...

night has no meaning as
you have become the keeper
of my mind and will not let me sleep.

who are you that you can speak
and I still hear you long after you
have gone...that I can see you as
though you were here...that your
skin is as real to me as my own.

I feel you as I close my eyes,
you are warm...you are wet.
and I hold you because you are love.

what of value would I give up, you ask...
to be with you...

I would give up all reason.

some days, the veneer of sanity is
but a frightfully thin coat of face,
not a mask...but a real live face.

it thinks no one will notice,

like the face of one extraordinary,
made beautiful by the hands of
an artist, pigmented blushes upon
undercoats of base hues, eyes
accented, lips highlighted, cheeks
rosy...but

beneath are thoughts of significant consequence.

I find solace, perceptible pleasure in small things,
but the small things are disappearing...and
my hands hurt too much to flip the hourglass.

time marches, does not stand still for even a moment.

and some days,
the mind just doesn't care anymore,
it knows it can wait out the clock while
it ticks away the hours of another day...

and passes through night,
with all it's dreams and such,
and it hopes that something,
someone, somewhere...

just might, today, make a difference.

The silence of a winter morning,
the serpentine smoke curls into
the icy sky and falls again, held
close to the ground by the grip of
cold that I keep held at bay as the
fire warms each part of me...shadows
cast as I rock in slow rhythm to the
thoughts of you.

How is it, that one can be so moved,
yet remain so transfixed upon the sound
of a voice they have yet to hear...that
nothing else can enter the silence.

Am I foolish in my thoughts, that I imagine
your golden strands of hair, turned amber
by the light of fire, and eyes glistening,
that I imagine your thoughts turning toward me,
as I whisper...

breaking my slow rhythm of rocking just
long enough to turn towards you and smile,

did you hear me...when I whispered, I could
hardly speak loud enough for fear of finding
the silence was only in my mind, and you...
you, becoming a shadow upon my heart, lonely
as I am on this cold, quiet, winter morning.

living will always contain the possibility of tears,

as the sky will always contain the possibility of a
cloud...the earth with it's rhythm of storms and calm.
the pulse of nature,

and a vine seeks to climb broken branches
and tendrils winding in symbiotic motion
seek the sun...

are we no different than to seek the sun...

as we climb our way through the thickets
and limbs of tree, always up, and a moment
of respite catches us,
and for a time we stop...listening in earnest
for the sound of the next storm.
horizons casting long shadows from behind...

and the wind carries us forward as we turn
our attentions to tomorrow.

tomorrow...with it's possibility
of tears...learns to live now, as

we seek the treetops of sun.