`

Rough is the wind that flattens
a tree from its anchored moor,

a destiny not too quick to ruin
presents a whispered word to me:

on we traverse without respite
that weary road we take,

what imprint is left behind
that sweeps relentlessly against these walls--

a spectre of bygone landscapes
whose blustering gusts are raptured calls

`

.
why dost thou recoil?
hast thou never met a man?
I stand over thee
only because thou dost cower

stand, and face me
even should I be thine enemy

this lowly posture thou adopt
t'was not thrust upon thee from above
'tis but a lie of thine own making
and wilt attract no grace nor mercy
from me, nor the heavens
'til truth of thine aching heart
be known a'loud

speak thy truth,
and know thyself
in the stature thine own natural will
would command

Seeking refuge
In your gazing eyes
Your sweet lips
Keep a smile on
Sad faces

Angel that fled from heaven
To ease broken spirits
Stay with me till first light
For your presence
Brings spring flowers
On a winter day

Ah, how your smile echoes
In my darkest hours
Your smile defeats Hades
Your every word flows
Like Shakespearean sonnets

I reside within a room, book
in hands eyes consumed
on the pages between the
lines forming pictures from
words entwined.

without interruption
I read it through impressions
of an author I never knew.

thought brought to a place
where it is witnessed by
the here and now, open to
endless possibility's
which are disciplined only by
the limitations set out by
ourselves and others around us.