And as she lies, silently sleeping,
smelling beautiful,
I watch and I wonder.
I see her skin move.
I feel her mind think.
I hear her breath rise and fall.
Does she know me? Do I know her?
Can these souls learn and live as one?
And as I think, she stirs,
and she smiles.
And my soul rest's knowingly.
Then sleep comes,
all warm and comfortable,
and she has floated on.
In cold, I wake and turn,
and am again alone.
But then I see that dawn has broken,
to a beautiful new day.
And on the bed I find, golden dusted sheets,
and a halo,
that she left along her way. . .
There is a stone black heart,
kept in a polished, wooden box.
It comes out on rainy days,
and sometimes with a thought.
The saddest lies are the little ones -
the quiet crying of a twisted thought;
silence, speaking volumes;
small-talk hiding guilty eyes.
When your heart is in
someone else's hands,
time is thick with wanting,
like a night with no sunrise
As you reach out for the ghost -
that appears at selfish times -
it slips away, out of sight
and goes back to sleep inside.
Back in the box,
goes the stone, black heart;
the perfect symbol
of a love that never was.
Life's days, and earth
are but a moment noticed
on our souls mysterious journey
of wondering why.
We travel, soaring over mountains
and people, and oceans and
days of existence
unsure of our heading
and even the forces
propelling the flight.
And always, the deep dark unknown
looming below.
But sometimes
in the beauty of the trip,
and if our path
is a blessed one,
The energy that is our soul
is touched and mixed for a time
with the energy of another beautiful soul,
whose kisses are the sweetest
and whose love is warm and real.
And for a moment, the searching stops
and we are home.
And in that instant,
we knew the meaning in the flight
Andrea�s dad,
was gonna ride his bike
all the way up to Alaska.
Seemed awful far to me.
Then Melanie came
and showed me why I waited,
but all her secrets
spilled too easily.
Though Stephanie
was much older, she somehow
made strange sense to me -
both quick, and pain-free.
Lorie got me thinking
about that long-term thing,
but darn that door, too thin,
no more her and me.
Killeen was the one I thought,
soul shining through her eyes.
Hair like gold and skin so soft,
our thoughts are still aligned.
So Lisa comes and now I think
I�ve learned a thing or two,
but just as quickly proven wrong,
pain wakes me to the know.
Dumb and stupid and alone,
truth, she whispers to me:
�You loved them all, silly boy,
each in some strange way.�
Night time as my canvas,
I sit awake, painting
memories with words.
Warm fire-shadows glow
on your skin, as white soft
cotton reveals all you are.
Outside, the world is
spinning, but inside me
my heart is too swollen to beat.
Too young and in the moment
to know then, this sweet,
vivid memory of truth.
The caress of a warm body,
the protection of a house?
The passing of a feeling,
or the drift amongst the stars?
The color in the sky,
or the smell of tonight?
The thoughts of passing yesterdays
mixed with tonight�s wine?
Is it things we shared between us,
or is it all I kept inside?
Still afraid of things I told you
that seem for naught tonight.
Still there must be something to this
else, why carry on this fight?
Memories torturing painfully,
the future looking bright.
Drops of crimson knowledge
seem to enlighten my thoughts,
and all I seem to know for sure
is that somehow it�s all right.
One day I�ll find her
and she'll know at my side,
that the question of this riddle
is answered here tonight.
I've never held anything
in my hand too long,
but I've tasted fleeting
glimpses of most things
as they should be.
The quiet, private smile of
someone who knows, broken
by empty chatter. Pity the poor
that rely solely on words
for their communication.
Sometimes the world itself speaks,
sharing intimate moments
for you and no one else.
Desire, like a crackling fire,
tingling up your spine.
Simple pleasures everywhere, that
distractions and life, try to hide.
But the lucky ones, with the right eyes,
can stop, look and listen
and hold the moment still inside.
What do I know anyways? Tonight,
I think I'm just too tired. Hot
water and some soap should wash off
this grease - pull back the covers,
and see if I still remember how to dream.
