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Hers was usual, his, an art
Ever finding solace in a single word
Little he said, the world he meant
Learning and yearning to be heard
Only if she knew, to hear love in hello!

I do not rise each day to fight,
but to remember I was never lost.
Not broken,
Not forgotten,
Just hidden behind the noise.

There is no bell to ring,
no altar to kneel at—
only the hush between heartbeats
that...

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

Fresh tunes of new promises
A tiny buzz from loving smiles
And lo! The mutual melody
As hum by hum
Deeper you both fall
Until what we were
Is but an echo.
All these the wind whispers
Little whispers that break...

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

Three times I had the lust to kill,
To clutch a throat so young and fair,
And squeeze with all my might until
No breath of being lingered there.
Three times I drove the demon out,
Though on my brow was evil sweat. . . .
And...

Go, with faith to conquer trials that appear;
Know that Christ your Savior with His help is
near.
Never give up the battle, dark though it may be;
For your Lord has promised you the victory.

She’s in love with sunsets
And all beautiful endings
Nature is in love with her, too
Every evening these two lovers
Stare and admire each other

I guess you think you know this story.
You don't. The real one's much more gory.
The phoney one, the one you know,
Was cooked up years and years ago,
And made to sound all soft and sappy
just to keep the children...

When air begins to hesitate,
truth becomes simple.
Love while you can.
Speak what you mean.
Forgive quickly.
Stand fully.
Because when breath grows thin,
regret grows loud.
Live now
so your last breath finds you...

Stars, sky - like a seductive sea,
I swear they tickle me,
And in them I see,
Every wonder I could be!

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little...