colors dripping down…

colors dripping down waterways of pure passion flowing into hopes we thought that we had given up to prove ourselves mature

New Intention

Know we of these things? Habitual roles, challenged, Everyday customs Of centuries transformed by New intention and old dreams

The Shadows Beckon

The shadows beckon, Welcoming me to morning; Where, I am guessing, Sense will be made of nonsense, As dreams make sense of waking

The Beautiful Reach

The beautiful reach Of all those who know the sun Tourist talismans, Fair children of the light, And most guileless company

The Him That She Married

There were those moments When he really loved her, but She never felt it The him that she married was An imaginary thing

The Lighthouse

“It’s gotten too old” – “It’s outlived its usefulness” – “What good is that light?” The lighthouse didn’t fail us; We stopped paying attention

the question

she asked the question tentatively, wondering if he even knew she had ever considered a life away from all this

the winter kissed her shoulders

in pale solitude the winter kissed her shoulders, and brushed her forehead — the echo has faded; there are no reasons anymore

lonely dog

shivery winter smoke pours from every stack smells of home and love reminding him of the one who always welcomed him once