When the Feeling Comes. {poetry}
When the feeling comes, there is no warning other than the distant drum beat from the valley on the other side of sleep’s edge.
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poetry
I Wonder About You. {poetry}
I wonder if you never forget
How my fingers find your hand
When I live in a different time and plane
Of Ribbons and Curls. {poetry}
Ribbons for words Curls but for fleeting change Of taking leaps And riding waves Of seasons and decisions Of smiles and tenderness Of tomorrows made up of nows… Wrapped in silver-lined hopes… Carrying nothing But a song… Of courage and faith… Of ribbons and curls… *** {Join us on ...
Calm Surrender. {poetry}
Peace is neither passive nor submissive. It is an overwhelming force which comes from within; transcending all worldly knowledge and acquisition of power over others. A steadfast coalition of spirit and soul standing against all forms of unrest that abounds. So when I say, “I’ve made ...
Loving You. {poetry}
Love does not walk on eggshells. It shatters through humiliating stumbling blocks and falls. It breaks into song sans regard for perfect pitches and tunes. It laughs uninhibitedly and with reckless abandon — not at, but with, another. It holds the other person’s hands not ...
Write to Me of Flowers and Meadows.
Write to me, of flowers and meadows and sights that leave you breathless and alive… Paint me a sunrise of smiles, of melodies that take my breath away. Move me with your moments of joys and sorrows, of strength, that took you through it all. Walk me through your dreams of greatness, and ...
Find Me. {poetry}
Winter’s running late as spring hesitates to arrive And yet all I see, are hues of a heart so vibrant and alive I would catch the fastest sail to be by your side If only moments like these could convey all that’s raging inside I have always found your face, whenever I look at mine ...
If I Still Wrote. {poetry}
The footsteps have faded into the crowd and throngs, The voices faint, I don’t hear them anymore. But if I still wrote love, on the pangs of waiting, you’d speak again. Sleep, wakefulness, silence — no matter — will be deafeningly alive, Of a hand held, of songs raw to this ...
I Don’t Care. {poetry}
I don’t care if you can’t say you love me, so long as you can’t live without me.
My Life Had Stood, a Loaded Gun: Emily Dickinson.
On one hand, she embodies the two ingredients that account for a writer’s freakability levels: the forsaken art of solitude, which she took to new, deadly levels, and her passionate romance with language. Combine this with the mysterious, poetic elegance watching you behind closed doors. Doors ...