Admired Poet

Who writes like that, if not an author? Someone with business, I dare say not. Perhaps, on the rare occasion, someone with theories to be debated. But none, not one, has such fluid markings, such precious wording as an author has merely with pen and paper. Oh, the language of an author can be studied and repeated, but no imitation will ever forge the signature that is the writings of a true author. Obscure are the thoughts of the madman who deems himself able to copy the work of an author. Whether educated, or merely talented from birth, an author has certain qualities that influence all that he is. He could be kind and gentle, always a man of honor. Or perhaps crude, and harshly rational. Give him a pen and you've handed him the world. Oh, the author is one to be envied. Who else is able to not only imagine so lavishly but to capture such imaginations and place them on paper? It is by far something to be jealous of.

This one's for the guys...

I've realized something. Most of the time, crowds can be the most forgiving allies. Those devoted fans who buy football tickets every week. The admiring public who sit in the rain, wind, sun, snow, or any combination of elements just to watch their favorite players pass the football. They root, they cheer, they scream, all for the love of the game. When they're disappointed, they cuss. When they're excited, they cuss. They allow their emotions to be taken on a wild, up and down roller coaster. Incomplete passes, interceptions, missed field goals, all result in mass, angry yelling and hatred, but with only a good throw, or a touch down, the crowd forgives all wrong doings and cheers with more enthusiasm. If a game is lost, though they go home disappointed, they are sure to return next week with high hopes for their favorite team. Where else can you find such devotion?

This one just sort of happened....

Provided that I don't fall victim to this illness, I would love to experience the freedom of that day. Once, when I had thought better of it, I decided not to attend that event, thus limiting myself to my room. He was grateful for my decision, experiencing the event for himself without my assistance. If I were to tell him before I did, however, he would have resented the communication and found a way to undermine me. don't worry though, I timed it precisely so as not to create any conflict in my relationship with him. Rather, I feel we are now stronger due to my judgement. When he returned, he spoke of how wonderful it all was. He described each crevice, each sound, smell, sight. He smiled, laughed, gestured to the wide scope of the event. his eyes glistened with joy and childhood. Then as his dramatic telling of the even t grew to a close, he placed a small trinket in my hand. It was smooth and beautiful and I cupped it between my fingers. It was a small porcelain tea cup, white with blue designs across its sides. He explained to me it had arrived from china, specifically for the event. He knew I didn't like Chinese products, but also like me, he saw the pure beauty in the small tea cup. His dramatic recalling of the vendor he had bought from made me smile and as he hobbled around, mimicking the old, frail woman, I couldn't help but laugh. Having received his precious gift, both the tea cup and the story, I explained to him how I myself had a gift for him. His smile lit up with curiosity. Taking his hand in mine, I drew him into the kitchen and proudly displayed my creation. A beautifully crisp and deliciously browned apple pie sat on the stove, still warm from the oven. With a hearty laugh, he drew me close to his body in the way of a hug only he could give. He whispered happy words into my ear, making me giggle with joy. When finally he released me, I placed the small tea cup on the window seal above the oven and took the pie to the table. I used the knives he gave me for Christmas to slice the apple pie into small triangles. He got the two plates, two glasses of milk, and the forks, all with a genuine smile. With the soft vanilla ice cream melting on the warm pie, we ate together, sitting on the porch, watching the sun set. Gently he held my hand and spoke of all his dreams and ambitions. Once, when a long gentle silence lingered between us, he dropped his hand from mine and in his gentle, loving voice, informed me that he was leaving me. And that was the last time I saw him.

The Changing Aspen

I watched the Aspen tree outside my room this morning.

Its delicate yellowing leaves hung gently from its branches.

It seemed to be at peace, absorbing the slight sun that snuck through the clouds.

When a gush of wind rushed through the courtyard and whirled around the precious vines of this beautiful tree, it bent in agony.

Soon, the weaker of the leaves released their grasp from the tree and floated on the wind.

They whirled around the tree like dancing fairies, all lit up from an inner beauty.

I thought about this tree, so useless in controlling the fading of its leaves, and the loosening of its grip on summer.

I thought of the time that moves, with no one's permission.

Whirling, twirling around us like a loose scarf in the wind.

I wanted to protect the tree.

I wanted to stop the time from changing the precious branches into barren sticks.

A fear crept into my body as I watched leaf after leaf fall to the ground, completely disconnected from the life it had known.

I thought how I tried to stop the time in my life.

To avoid the unknown of the future, by protecting what I could.

But just like the Aspen tree, time still passes me by, changing who I thought I was, and taking away the leaves I had grown so fond of.

Then wind calmed, and a gentle pour of rain dripped onto the tree.

The rain gave the remaining, stronger leaves a bright new color.

Now the tree has rid itself of the weak, discolored leaves and is left with only the most powerful, vibrant ones.

And again, I thought of myself.

Could it be that time is meant to pass, for the mere purpose of making us stronger, more beautiful as we go along?

Now the wind doesn't appear to be such a foe.

The wind is restoring, loving, and precise.

It takes only what is not needed, and leaves the strongest to stay.

Don't be afraid of the wind of change, let it move you, shape you, and make you better.

Rain Drops on my Skin

A single raindrop splashes on my skin. The sensation sends waves of emotions and feelings rushing through my body. I feel alive. Invigorated by this single drop of heavenly dew. I long for more. Waiting anxiously for another splash, a touch from above. With my arms open wide, I feel the relief and energy that spreads through me as the drops begin to fall. One after the other they land on my skin, sending shock waves through my nerves. Could there be anything stronger? As the downpour continues, I turn my eyes, filled with their own moisture, to the sky. Such a powerful feeling from such common little drops of water. But there is nothing common about the rain. No scientific research that can explain the healing that takes place in the rain. I am lucky to have felt such a powerful element in my ordinary life. Truly a miracle that saves my soul from being lost, merely washing my problems away.

If it is yet not plain the reading eye,

I love the rain.

I hate emergencies.

I hate emergencies.

The dread that fills your body.

The racing heart beat in your chest.

The staggered breathing in your lungs.

The racing, unorganized thoughts.

The sickness that makes you want to hurl.

The lightness in your head.

The questions left unanswered.

The future left untold.

I hate emergencies.

You are suddenly aware of your heavy breathing.

In and out through your nose.

Yet feeling no relief or comfort.

You concentrate on your breaths.

In. Out. In. Out.

Heavy, hard, wearing at your lungs.

I hate emergencies.

The heart rate that will not slow.

No matter where you look,

What you think,

Who you see,

The pounding, pounding, pounding continues.

It's an ever reminder of what you have,

That someone else may not.

I hate emergencies.

The quietness that fills all who witness.

The need to say something,

But not knowing what.

Searching for a way to comfort,

but knowing there is none.

I hate emergencies.

The incessant waiting and wondering.

Guessing at what will happen next,

And having no way of preventing it.

Not knowing if it will end good,

Or horribly, horribly bad.

I hate emergencies.

And all that comes with them.

Rest in Peace, Gunther.

Lost Friendship

You're falling away,

Slipping through my fingers.

I think of all the things I say,

To prevent the heartache going deeper.

I am reaching out to help you.

But you won't grab my hand.

All your nightmares come true,

As you sink into the sand.

I try to bear your burden.

I try to take your pain.
But I can only know then,

This ending's such a shame.

Please take my helping hand,

As I call your echoed name.

And pull you from the sinking sand,

And rid you of this pain.

But I fear that I am useless.

You yet continue to sink.

I don't think I can do this,

My spirit's just too weak.

Soon you'll have to disappear,

Your charming face will fade.

I will try to stay so very near,

Throughout these gloomy days.

Perhaps you may find your way,

Back to the life you had.

I away upon that glorious day,

When tears will not be sad.

What's With This?

What's with the rain?

Always trickling down the same.

What's with the rain?

What's with these clouds?

Working as beauty's shroud.

What's with these clouds?

What's with this thunder?

Making me feel like I'm going under.

What's with this thunder?

What's with the lightning?

It can be quite frightning.

What's with the lightning?

What's with this storm?

It makes me feel happy and warm.

What's with this storm?

Childish

Childish story, childish play
Childish way to spend the day.
Childish love, childish song
Childish heart to skip along.

Childish joy, childish dream
Childish care for everything.
Childish fort, childish game,
Childish wonder all the same.

Childish life, childish smile,
Childish will to stay awhile.
Childish awe, childish truth
Childish innocence during youth.

Childish hurt, childish pain,
Childish knowledge to be gained.
Childish growth, childish gone,
Childish reality to move on.

Childish thought, childish aide,
Childish memories start to fade.
Childish book, childish hop,
Childish loyalty begins to stop.

Childish mind, childish halt,
Childish wonder is now adult.
Childish hug, childish friend,
Childish aliveness has an end.

Childish fame, childish learn,
Childish hope for youth’s return.
Childish fret, childish name,
Childish infancy never the same.

Sunrise

I stand here, on the edge of it all, waiting for the sun to rise. It is a renewing sun that calms my soul and soothes my heart. If I can but make it through the starless night and experience the glorious sun, then I know I will be alright. Dawn brings new hope and love. It brings endless possibilities. It heals the pain and washes away the dirt. The sunrise is a new beginning from the long, dark night. The heat warms my skin and it glows in a rich orange color. The wind blows fresh in my face and smells sweet. Birds sing and welcome the new day. And for the first time since the sunset, I can breathe deeply. The air refreshes my body and mind. The warmth of the beautiful morning thaws the cold shell I had developed during the moonless night. Dawn is God's way of rewarding those who have survived the night's hardships. It is his way of saying, "Good morning.", "Well done", and "I love you." And it is that which keeps me pursuing through the night. No matter how dark, or how scary, or how long the night seems, dawn will always come. And the renewing breath of God will blow through my hair and his light will shine on my face. It is moments like those, moments of pure relief, that is what I long for.

3 of Each

3 Seconds of anxiety
3 Minutes of relief
3 Hours of regret
filled with a little respect

3 Days of anguish
3 Weeks of pride
3 Months of longing
And dealing with the wronging

3 Years of choices
3 Decades of happiness
3 Centuries of love

Given to us from above

Add these threes together

And what do you get forever?

One life, with only one story
One person, who's living in a hurry

The Rose Bearer

She brought red roses to his grave everyday at the same time. The grounds keeper would welcome her, always with a warm smile. She would smile sweetly, but her lips held no happiness. She was too consumed in her grief to be happy. She walked solemnly alone. Always alone. No one ever accompanied her on her lonesome journey. Surely a lady as beautiful as she, had suitors. Perhaps she did not want a suitor. No matter what the reason, she was alone. Save for the grounds keeper who listened and watched from the shadows. The beautiful lady with her covered face knew he listened and she allowed him to. As he would pass by, the grounds keeper would hear her hum her daily prayer as she would delicately place the roses on the grave stone. Her prayer was full of tenderness.

"Flowers do blossom,

As you used to do.

Yet they must move on,

and died with you too.

Holy are roses,

laid on your grave

To give back the beauty

That you yourself gave.

Here I do stand,

roses in hand,

To mourn of your passing

but celebrate life of laughing

Rest well, you honorable soul,

until tomorrow, when I shall again console."

Thus the prayer went, day in and day out. No matter what the weather, no matter what the day, the shrouded woman would return with her roses to sing her sweet hymn. The grounds keeper grew to admire the lovely lady. He knew not who she was, nor did he care. She would return each day, and he would watch and listen until she left. When she would leave, she would go as quietly as she had come. Stopping only to smile at the grounds keeper. Then she would disappear around the corner of the cemetery, only to return tomorrow.

One wintry morning in the midst of November, she came as she had for so many years. She brought the roses and sang her hymn. All was as normal, until she left. What had overcome her, he could not guess. But the grounds keeper listened as she spoke her final words. She looked at him with sorrowful eyes and in a gracious voice spoke the words he would never forget.

"Thank you , dear grounds keeper. Always so kind. Remember, your devotion is never far from my mind."

And with that she left. The grounds keeper pondered these words all day long. They kept him awake that night as he considered their meaning. The next day, he waited anxiously for the beautiful woman, but she never came. Never had she missed a day, never had she been tardy. Something had changed, and the beautiful lady never brought the roses. This disturbed the man greatly. What had happened? He could only too well guess. Several days later, the grounds keeper visited the grave the woman had so often visited. The grave stone was worn, but the words were still clear.

Here lies Jon

Brother. Son. Husband.

The words were simple, but made the keeper cry. It was only then he noticed the new grave stone standing next to this man's grave. The stone read in newly carved letters,

Here is Clair

Wife, ever so fair.

The keeper knew too well who she could be. It was the beautiful woman with the roses. He cried for her and her lost lover. He cried for her loneliness and for her pain. The next day, the grounds keeper returned to the graves, their captives now united forever. He brought with him roses for each grave. He came at the same hour of the morning as the woman had so often done. Then he began to hum, and in his husky voice, recited the well known words.

"Flowers do blossom

As you used to do.

Yet they must move on,

and died with you too...."

And he continued, singing for this Jon and Clair, the song that had been sung so many times. He returned everyday with the flowers to sing, until he himself joined them in eternity.

To this very day, at those very same graves, everyday at precisely nine o'clock in the morning, someone still brings flowers, though the keeper died centuries ago. And when the roses appear, a light breeze blows through the cemetery. And on that breeze, the hymn is still sung through the trees. Though no one knows who, or how these roses appear, they do. And it is a mystery no one wishes to unravel.

Rain

Shall we dance in the rain together?

Letting our bodies whirl through the pouring drops?

Each drop dribbles like a sweet elixir.

Refreshing us, pushing us to dance longer.

The sweet smell of fresh rain fills our nostrils

And fills our lungs with pure joy.

The rain does magical things,

And having you close only makes things better.

So, join me in this dance.

As the rain falls, the wind blows, and nature rejuvenates me,

I feel I can handle anything thrown my way.

Feel the freedom, feel the joy.

There's nothing to compare to dancing in the rain.

The Crush's Reply

Why do you say such childish words,

Like your mind is filled with birds?

Can't you see that's not just right,

That everything is fine and bright?

No, I do not love you now.

Never will I try knowing how.

You can have your foolish thought,

But my heart you have not bought.

This world is dark and very cold.

You cannot speak of fields of gold.

There is no thing that makes us right.

Only robbers and cruel daggers in night.

If our hearts shared just one beat,

Then death itself we would surely meet.

For hearts need be separate things,

To grow into separate beings.

Yes, may my features glow,

But only from fighting deathly foe.

My arms cannot hold you tight.

They are busy fixing other's plight.

See how we cannot be?

There was never you and me.

Leave me alone you love sick girl.

Before you make want to leave this world

A girl to her Crush

Let us join together in love,
Sent to us from heaven above.
We will sleep in fields of gold,
and never will our hearts grow old.

Our hearts will share a single beat,
And death itself will we cheat.
Our souls, interetwined will be.
After all the love I give to thee.

Your smile alone can make me happy.
I know those words sound kind of sappy.
But you alone can make this world,
Light with stunning beauty swirled.

Our love will make the dark shine bright.
Shine like never a shining light.
Your face with handsome features glow,
And makes my rhythm heart beat slow.

Take me into your steadfast arms,
For I am over come with charms.
Speak the words I long to hear,
And wipe away my sorrowed tear.

See how we are meant forever?
To love and share all things together.
See how our hearts are meant to be?
Forever will it be you and me.