There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams,      
   Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams;  
   Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey,              
   And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday.        
   There are vines in nooks and crannies, and there's moss about the pool,
   And the tangled weedy thicket chokes the arbour dark and cool:          
   In the silent sunken pathways springs a herbage sparse and spare,      
   Where the musty scent of dead things dulls the fragrance of the air.    
   There is not a living creature in the lonely space arouna,              
   And the hedge~encompass'd d quiet never echoes to a sound.              
   As I walk, and wait, and listen, I will often seek to find              
   When it was I knew that garden in an age long left behind;              
   I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more,                  
   As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before.              
   Then a sadness settles o'er me, and a tremor seems to start -          
   For I know the flow'rs are shrivell'd hopes - the garden is my heart.

When the winter chrysanthemums go,
there's nothing to write about
    but radishes.

Due to the graphic nature of the universe, creative expression is advised.

My heart opens to nowhere
as I look through brown glass
I hope to see you one last time
that maybe just maybe, my soul
will quit searching and peering through
a thousand eyes of poetry....

I have lived life as it meant nothing
everyone was invisible as I prodded on.
Those were the days, hot summers, nights
of meanings. There were the days before we
had our own place, small but affordable many
nightmares of love drifting away...

Heaven calling loved ones, one at a time'
I close my eyes, what else can I do, but wait
and years have passed by, and now the oneness
and the loneliness that creeps in the very way of life....

Your chance, and the many feelings I have to
discern and disarm, trying to listen to reason,
not knowing what the times will bring
but thats okay, time will slip away...

Dear Oneness you cant have me anymore..

Debbie Brooks 2014

The energy is back, do I
The energy is back, do I
follow, follow, fight? Do I
frightened, frantic, flee?

There are flurries in my chest again,
there's a storm between my ribs,
do I raise my flag and charge,
or am I just a snow drift?

It's hot and cold like everything
its silver, gold like wedding rings
its an ache like endlessness
that follows me sleep, I am

dying out like autumn leaves and
springing forth like summer trees and
God refused to answer me so
I will go to meet him.

Leave my cabin, burn it down
build a new one out of town,
open up my veins and let the
wind come rushing in, and then

I built a fire in the dark and
dove into the middle, knowing
smoke would choke me, flames would burn
but I'd be glad for going.