Can You Hear Me?

Can you hear me
above the noises
of all these voices,
would you ever choose me
when you have all these choices
clamoring for your attention
freely giving their affection
Giving you love was my only intention

but the love I gave was met with rejection

I still remember clearly
the nights we danced beneath the moonlight
absorbing the waterfall,
its rushing sounds still coursing thru each vein
I will always remember dearly
the intimate talks, without speaking
the nights without sleeping
your touch on my skin forever stained

And there is this void, this place
where the only light I see is your face,
where there is a crippling darkness
if i try to erase it,

where I’m filled with emptiness

if i try to embrace it

Suspended between hell and earth
I remain
knowing every word you uttered
was spoken in vain
knowing every broken promise
was my heart broken in twain

Yet when I close my eyes to sleep each night
your memory only becomes stronger
As I drift in the comfort of your phantom sound
my dreams take me back to places no longer..

.. an open window, a gentle breeze
the salted scent of the sea wafting in
the sunrise caressing us awake
sheer white curtains billowing

Can you hear me..d08166057863cbc51d1ec477e6c23c15

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Blossoming of a Dream

dreamI heard a whisper in the darkness
from deep within
the blossoming of a dream
and as it bloomed I was falling
falling
into a voracious summer stream.

Fading away from the world
I found myself learning
that bliss
was a desperate yearning
from within a wuthering abyss.

The whisper faded into the night
as a form emerged
from a place within the mist,
and I heard an echo without a sound
as I stood immobile,
transfixed.

 

Everything you see has its roots in the unseen world.
The forms may change, yet the essence remains the same”
~Rumi

flower

 

Measured Sips

hands2

What did these hands do before they held your hand..
They must have been resting idly;
waiting for that perfect fit, the perfect span
that leaves my heart beating wildly.

What did these lips do before they got lost in your lips..
They must have remained sealed, and grim;
waiting for you to drink my soul in measured sips,
from a chalice eternally filled to the brim.

What did these eyes do before they beheld your eyes..
They must have gazed into total darkness;
waiting for a light from emerald skies,
to obliterate the utter starkness.

What did my mornings consist of
before I woke up next to you..
your tousled hair and your dreamy eyes,
your arms around me,
my legs between your steel-hard thighs.

What did my time consist of
before I spent it in your presence..
For now ~ during the times you are away,
I linger in your essence.

 

 

 

Ashes Into The Wind

ashes

As I look back on the pages of my life,
and reminisce over the events that forged me into who I am today,
I am filled with sweet melancholy..
a bittersweetness that leaves me in a familiar yet distant place.

The tear-laced memories,
the distant sounds of laughter..
the warmth of gentle smiles..
all come together to form this compendium I now hold in my hands.

At times it feels so light..
and I wonder:
what have I done with my days?
these moments that are so fleeting..
what purpose have I fulfilled?
what lives have I touched..?

Other times I can barely hold it up
from the dense weight of its contents.
The lessons are what I try to carry with me;
though at times the weight seems daunting,
unbearable.

The pages of our lives don’t always turn so easily,
they sometimes prevent us from moving forward.

Sometimes
The past can be the most stubborn of barriers;
Pages like molten lava that solidify into obsidian
with its sharp edges and conchoidal fractures.

We try to climb over them,
under them,
through them…
tearing our flesh in the process
yet to no avail.

Like a cinder block tied to our feet
as we attempt to swim to shore;
it holds us stagnating;
and we know it is only a matter of time
before it pulls us down,
drowning into darkness.

And so we are left with no alternative —
but to burn those pages,
and blow the ashes into the wind.

The Missing Of You

missing of you2

I miss you
when the night covers us in darkness
and I can no longer gaze into your eyes;
but I miss you
when the sun rises
and I can no longer hold you in my dreams.

I miss you
when it rains
and your face becomes a hazy mist against my window;
but I miss you
when the rain stops
and I can no longer feel you in the raindrops.

I miss you
when you are not speaking to me
and I have to rely on the memory of your voice;
but I miss you
when you speak to me
and I lose the anticipation of your gentle intonations.

I miss you
when you are away from me
and I long for your warm embrace;
but I miss you
when you are near
and I miss the missing of you.

Waiting For Darkness

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Each night
I lay my head upon this pillow,
I am consumed by thoughts of you;
when you used to lie next to me,
your arm around my waist,
drawing me near..
Our hearts would find their rhythm
and beat as one.

Long moments later,
my eyes finally find their way
to that place of dark slumber;
where there is no pain,
no sorrow,
no missing you.

These days,
that side of the bed
is full of books,
and mementos,
and memories of you.
The chill in the air lingers,
and it takes longer to get warm..

Each night,
I patiently wait for darkness
to envelop me,
to warm me,
to soothe me..
like your arms once did.

I dream
the same dream every night..
I am in the ocean of your eyes,
standing upon its jagged rocks,
fighting the wind;
and I hold up a lantern,
in hopes that it may guide your way..
.. back.

I said to my soul,
be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing;

wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing;
there is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.”
~ T.S. Eliot

Stillness Upon the Surface of the Pond

“Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened
but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace,
like a clock during a thunderstorm. ”
~ Robert Louis Stevenson

ripples

Sometimes you don’t like the person you become.
It is not who you are,
not who you want to be..
that person of fears and insecurities and ‘wants’..

Sometimes that person emerges,
in moments of darkness,
or lack of clarity.
But that person never stays,
those feelings never stay.
They are like the ripples on the surface of a pond
when it is disturbed by a pebble, or a branch..
They don’t last,
and the stillness returns.

You are that stillness.

You are not the ripples.

When there is stillness upon the surface of the pond
we can see a clear reflection
of the trees, the sky, the birds flying above
a clear reflection of ourselves,
and of those who gaze upon our visage..

It is the ripples that cause distortion;
we no longer see the reflection as it is..
it shakes, becomes unsteady,
the mind can’t make sense of it..
and we feel uneasy~
afraid.

So much changes day to day on the surface,
but underneath,
the stillness and the calm can remain.

We simply have to learn to recognize the ripples
for what they are before they affect us,
as mere disturbances,
and have faith that the stillness will return

if we remain calm,

if we remain still.

It is not always an easy task to remember,
to remain still..
to recognize the ripples
and we find ourselves acting in ways unworthy of our true being.

But sometimes,
someone comes into our lives and helps us to remember.

And they do it so gently and lovingly
that we are sometimes not aware of what they are doing.
They don’t get upset..
They don’t shut themselves off from us
or see us as unworthy
or walk away.

They stay open,
allowing their wondrous light to keep shining,
lighting our way ~

They remain that mirror that we need
and we are able to see ourselves,
our true self,
without the distortions.

They are able to see the ‘stillness’,
even when we are affected by the occasional disturbance.
And as they steady our world,
they steady our hearts.
They become our stillness on the surface of the pond.

You know when someone like that enters your life,
a divinely-wrapped gift from heaven ~
inherently and wholly.. you know.

May we all find such a gift.