Pause, and calmly think on that.
In the dark I can see, reflected, weaving and waving, in this blessed early morning moment, the firelight in your eyes. Your lips, full, pained, hurt, whisper out an injured stream, while I memorize your eyes, and the mirrored flame of your soul. And I am struck dumb, feeble words wretch forth, anguished to see…
A Clear Sky A clear sky above thee A night sky beckons me To recall again Your name upon my lips Bright points shining in space In constellations across the black they race Beautiful magnificence Your name upon my lips Crisp and clear cold nights air Revives and refreshes all that is fair Breath taken,…
The fourth year is a dead, dry sea of shifting sands. Each week is a new staggering climb to crest a new mountain of sand, to be greeted again by another vicious valley and one more dead, dry sea of shifting sands.