Horizon Love

If I could see a broken love,
I’d climb atop a hill,
And watch the red-orange fire
Break on the world’s edge.

If I could write that time,
I’d not portray,
The palette of the sleeping sun,
But rather,
The moment of indecision,
As he gently rests his head upon the earth.
I’d enhance the last dying ray,
Piercing my hand-shaded eyes.

If I should paint that sound,
I’d forget the shrills and calls
Given by two distant, silhouettes
Chasing across the sky.
Instead of beating wings,
I’d display honks and shrieks
Of passing geese.

If I created a portrait of Love,
Balanced so delicately upon the horizon,
I’d include my own image,
Edging forward in my seat,
Viewing my first sunset,
Anxious to the outcome.
Wary of the finish.

When the Frosted Morning Ushered Dawn

Define your love
For me, my dear.
This is all I ask.
For if our purpose
Is bound and clear,
I shall forget our past.

There’s a lesson here
To be learned, my son.
And we are yet to see.
For in the early rise of
The morning misted dawn,
Our hopes and dreams may flee.

For in the Frosted morning, Love,
All is gone I tell.
Because I loved you all too soon,
That sun can Burn in Hell.

Some Call it Poetry

Some call it Poetry
Words scrawled across the page.
I call it Passion
A creative mind exploring a soul.

Some call it Rhyme
Pleasing a need with un-rehearsed language.
I call it Romance
Smooth-speak under the moon.

Some call it Metaphor
Enhancing an image with the eye of the mind.
I call it Madness
Twisting a truth in a soul-known world.

Some call it Lyrical
Simple words meeting musical malignancy.
I call it Life
The heart’s beat in time with another’s.

Yes, some call it Poetry
The romantic madness in life’s passions.
But I call it Love
A passionate madness in the romantic life.

Solace, or Solitude?

As rays of sunlight
Bounce through
The trees like
Arrows loosed
From Heaven,
Smack into the sidewalk,
Mottling the pavement
Like the scales
Of an orange and
Yellow chameleon,
Another archer
Roams free in
The wilderness.

Is there a
Primal instinct
Deep within
Each of us
That is so
Barbaric, so
Animal, that
We are too
Terrified to
Gaze deep into our
Soul?

Are we so
Afraid of
What we’ll find?
Is this why
We all gaze
Outward? Is
This our way
Of avoiding the
Fact that our
Soul is not a
Sanctuary, but
A torture chamber?
The only torture
We feel here is
Truth.

Mistakes and
Evil deeds –
Just black sheep
Among the white,
Promises, and good truths
Are few,
Yet powerful.
Why focus on
The bad?

The inner workings
Of the mind and soul
Are the last wild
Frontier to be
Explored.
Can we overcome
Our terror,
Look within
for our answer,
And use our
Emotions to
Expand our
Race, to pass
Into a world
Where there is
Not one thing
To be feared?

But, in this
Solace of the
Inner spaces
Of our mind
And soul,
Are we at
Peace amidst
Uncounted turmoil?
Or are we just
Alone?

Plans

Was this the plan?
The plan of God?
Was every detail meant to come to life?
Even the terror? Even the strife?

These questions fill my head,
As I read each of your dear letters
Before I approach my bed.
Somehow, they make me feel better.

The soothing comfort of your words,
Which I know meant much back then,
Make me wonder this:
“What ever happened to our bliss?”

Your words of love, caring, tenderness,
Spread like dust in the wind.
Now, they escape my grasp,
My fingers sifting through a handful of ash.

We swore to stay.
To be forever near.
I wanted you today,
But you were not here.

We promised life,
We promised love.
Were we not unlike,
The Turtle Doves?

Yet your love has died,
And mine struggles on.

Was this the plan?
The plan of God?