Definitions # 1

Unrequited Love

Locked inside a tiny box
passion filled with flames
petals of a blooming flower
plucked in disarray

Wander into silence
she is deaf to the heart
voices of romance
vanishing in the dark

The Woman Series # 3

She is

Veins - highways of life
poisoned by venom
purple lips kiss
Frost

Heart - pumping
cold and fear
switfly
ice

Eyes pierce
indifference
lost and
frozen

The Woman Series # 2

This is a quick improvised write on the spot.  9:30PM - 6/20/14

The Seven Year Itch

Dreams drift and life fades
listening to echoes - in a daze
time is ticking swiftly away
Where's my heart - locked
in a maze - she stands there
in disarray, hoping and praying
this goes away..

 She knows the truth,
Stands firm and somber.
In her eyes I squirm,
denial... she knows it
when she sees it.

Life drifts and dreams fade
listening in a daze- time is
tick tocking away- echoing
the hearts confusion in the m
aze.
She stands there - hope lost
and disillusioned.  Will this
ever go away?

Doors locked, changed -
nothing happend, yet nothing the
same. I am who I am, though
I'm not the same.  Can she live 
with me, I do not know.  Only 
time will tell, though it will
not slow.  

Tick tock, the hands move on,
and I wander in thought.
Will she remain by my side,
Or will the dreams slip like
nights, changing with the sunrise?

She is my heart, she is my light
She is the one that creates the spark
That makes me write.

In disarray, I pray and hope
That she will not go away, I 
could not cope.  She is my heart
she is my home..

An itch I scratched,
and now she's gone.
It's now dark.

The Woman Series -# 1

Silence is a Woman

She stands blind and deaf with clenched fists.

Her lack of voice is a violent wave of desolation.

In one hand she holds my heart, and in the other

she holds a knife.  She gives no sign of reaction,

leaving imagination to run wild with anticipation.

She is a statue, unresponsive to any stimuli. 

I scream with all my breath, and she just remains

still, staring off into another world.  

Shattered, I crumble before her. She is sick and

disturbed by the image of my ashes. She sweeps them

up and drops them into the trash. 

Calmly she walks away never to look back,

silent and unabashed.

A Portrait of My Muse

There was a melodic hum breezing through the air.  
The sun filled the room through skylights and windows,
illimunating a woman. She sat cross-legged with a paint brush
 in one hand and a tube of acrylic gold paint in the other.  She was amidst the foreplay of creativity, the prelude to creation....
she swayed in rhythmic motion - emotions flowed through
her intense strokes upon the canvas.

Pure inspiration, though she left none for me. 

How Do You Mend a Broken Heart?

She still sleeps on her side,
king size loneliness - his lies
tantalize and surprise...
time he tries to bide.

She cannot abide,
though she wants to turn
back the clock - rewind
to better days, clearer mind.

Her life's on pause, but not
he runs to a new spot
She cries alone, midnight hour
Reliving her wedding shower

How do you mend a broken heart?
Time only brings forth scares -
and will they ever go away?
Will innocence and faith ever reign?