what is it my love,
this angel comes when the moon does not look
by stealth in the wee hours amidst the blackness,
finds my cheek and there her lips imprinted
for me to find at morn’s first light,
left to reassure,
to tell uncertainty will never overcome Me?
~ ~ ~
Moments
I grab them, trap them before they flee,
put them in my pen to recount them ‘ere I sleep,
moments of the day when hearts be one,
moments . . .
like treasure lost an eon,
re-discovered relics gold,
minted o’er Again
~ ~ ~
Phoenix
and from the storm arisen
spawned of blackened thunder
by haste the calm ensues
despair made chaste,
chased beyond the moon
knows hope Renewed.
~ ~ ~
Cycles
I am perpetual motion,
born a sojourner
finding no tent,
destined to meet my end
wherever I’ve never Been.
~ ~ ~