The dreams I weave inside my head
Devour my days
I love you in ways
I never can standing before you.
See me behind the mirror
I quietly say
As you look at yourself
I am a doll you fashioned
With your own eyes and own hands
And I dance,
Not to the melodies you play
But to distant symphonies
Inside my head.

I Wish

I wish to write of love
I am afraid I won’t stop
If I start
Do I know what it is?
I cannot say if I ever walked its fields
If I ever saw its sky, breathed its air,
Felt its ground beneath my feet.
Yet I wish to write of love
I am afraid I will stop
Before I can ever start.
How would I write of feeling
A world I have never touched?

Misty Months

On a narrow asphalt road
As I drive
Under the dimly-lit street lights
I call back memories as the night falls
Of times when I was alone
As I am now
Quietly gazing into the shrouded tomorrow.
A streak of light to rupture the dark
To start a heartbeat stopped.
Years go as I grow,
All is the same.
The light never came,
Beloved, long-awaited
To open its mouth & swallow the shadows.
No matter the road I take
It is all the same.
The shadows, now companions of old, still remain.


If I am lost
It is because the hand
That guided me knew not the paths.

If I am hopeless
It is because the well of uncertainty
Is bleak and bottomless.

If I am dreaming
It is because life is tantalizing,
Unsullied, when woven in the ether.

If I am angry
It is because my dreams
Become blighted by the tyranny of living.