How can I be so unhappy
doing the same thing day by day?
Why am I complacent
when the fear of change sways?
To live beyond my comfort
means to embrace the unknown.
My heart cries yes
even if my cracked soul has flown!
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Who am I?
How can be a poet
when my heart flusters the words?
I scream,
laugh,
cry,
rage,
love,
despair,
convulse,
disappear,
ram the truth
and most of all
still carry through!
Loss and Love
The last touch.
A hug.
No more flesh to flesh.
Heartbeat to heartbeat.
The memory of pleasures shared.
Oh my dear friend if only I could convince you
to stay my lover.
But you heart loves differently
and that is why I love you.
Cold
My thoughts are chaotic.
My feelings overrule.
The storm crashed through
last night
causing my soul
to wake broken,
uncertain.
This blanket cannot keep the chill off of me.
Pain
It cuts.
Pressing into my flesh.
If only I wore jeans not so tight.
No excuses
The breathe hits the hollow of the neck
just where the shoulder meets.
Warm, tingling, soft.
Slowly it travels up the neck
caressing the skin.
The crook of the ear where it begins
brings forth a soft sigh
before a slightly moist mouth brushes against it.
Nibbles begin. Soft, playful, tantalizing.
Outside the rim lips travel interspersed
with the breath of lust.
Until the tip is reached and
an involuntary indrawn breathe.
Slowly in the ear itself
sweet words are whispered longingly.
To be true
Whimsical vagaries ensue
from the cold state of emotions.
How can I do the things they do
and still be myself?
At what point do I disagree
and become ostracized.
Never in life is easy so hard
when your soul is funneled outward.
Today I lost another friend
or at the very least someone who I thought counted highly.
Rambling On
Time takes its toll
We wander across the lanes.
Chances are thrown.
Opportunities missed.
Others reveled in.
Where am I going now?
Only time will tell.
Red Palm Leaves
Appointments.
Responsibilities.
Horrid honour of duties.
Managed and dealt with.
One day at a time.
But my jewel reflects my true desires
and I look ahead daring to dream.
Wistful
My imagination roams.
I sift through fantasies, scenarios, drama.
Where would I like to go?
Anywhere but here.
To shirk the onerous responsibilities
to wander unburdened
free.
Cabin fever.
Wistful thinking of a vacation not planned.
Saturn's Premier Poet 