Footprints On The Rug

I stare for a long time
At your strange white face
An eye that seems to ponder
Yet never blinks

I leave this silent place
And the face that stares
How did you get there;
But I knew from inside out


Others came and left the place
A small voice is calling
Is it the face with one eye?
Yet no mouth to beckon me

Inside this room of silence
You have vanished
Another takes your place
Distorted and angry

I wonder if you moved
Or blinked an eye
I wonder if you knew
That I saw you there… briefly
~ ~ ~

Do you Wish to SEE

Everything that I retrieve comes from my past. I can see the shadows
waving around me like a wind blown summer. As I stop and think about it,
if it happened a minute ago, it's in the past. I have what we all have;
a cluttered memory box that's opened on all sides; to me of course.

Somewhere in the shadows will lie tomorrow's past. Do I wish to see
what that section looks like? No... Am I afraid of what the future holds? Maybe..
Aren't you? I would like to trail my fingers thru portions of the shadows and erase things. All of us are human beings. We all have shadows that swirl around
in the dark expanse of our memory box...Don't we?

Like a blind man, he touched me gently. He touched the lips
of my smile as I felt his voice wrap around me like a fine silk
glove. He drank me like a summer's eve. The breeze brought forth
the murmuring of the leaves as he disappeared without a trace.
The white mist of loneliness settled over me

Can't You Hear My Echo

A silence falls as if each part of creation is waiting. The trees
are reaching toward skies of blue while the sun yawns with its yellow
mouth. Somewhere in the distance a fire lives and breathes; I feel
the roar from its crackling conversation. Clearly, the garden
gate swings as a shadow on my garden wall. Can't you hear my echo
calling you? This echo without two voices.

A Torn Page

I am not just a torn page from your book of phone numbers
Nor your shadow at the end of a winter's day. You can not
pencil me in because I am not your appointment; nor will I
ever be your torn page

Memory

Forgiving does not erase the bitter past.... a healed memory is not a deleted memory.... Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember.... we change the memory of our past into a hope for our future

Just bring my son back

Today, while doing my housework, I heard the saddest story. I thought about it and knew that I must post this for anyone that may need to think about their relationships, families or whatever the case may be...

This is a true story that happened a few years back. The talk show host was using it for an analogy of sorts.

It seems that a father had backed out of his driveway not knowing
his young son was behind the car. I am not sure of the age of the son.
The father backed over him and killed him on the spot.

The ambulance arrived and the father pleaded with them to save his son at any cost. They said he was pleading that whatever amount of money was needed didn't matter..... "Just bring my son back to life."

But You Were Never There

Somehow, I found a trace of you
inside the entrance that protected you.

Through remnants, I walked in to find
unwritten letters, anger and emptiness

Layered strongly, is the scent of your habitation
yet I can only smell my own intrusion.

I wanted desperately to place you in my
garden of rainbow fantasies, amid bits of sky

Maybe oft times to speak in whispered vowels

But you were never there............

Where Will You End Up?

Who has stopped briefly on a winter's hill?
Without a future or a past you stand there
in the moment; bare before
yourself……….

You wear a thought that no one sees…
The moon walks across the dark night sky.
You walk across inner moments
of yesterday,today and tomorrow..
Where will you end up…………….

Seashells In Sand

My mind isn’t buried like seashells in sand
Ink spots of reflection become my pen in hand
A glimmer of light becomes my only command
A taste of life becomes my only stand

Truth

Followed closely on the heels of dishonesty, you will find truth making its way
toward the door of home; and there is where it should be most comfortable.