I need time
To be normal again —
If I can ever be the way I was

I need time
For those thousands of emotions to settle —
If they can ever settle  

I need time
To not cry
To beat the sadness
To sleep well —
And not to wake up with an aching heart

I need time
For my mind to clear
To function logically

I need time
To smile again
To tell you that everything is okay

Because it’s not okay
I am not okay

So don’t tell me to move on just now
Don’t tell me to not hold on to the past
Don’t tell me this and that

Because I loved deeply
And I love deeply

Because I am grieving —
And though for someone, it may be one less person in a world of over 8 billion people
To me, she was my mother, my world

it was the rain, when i first felt the pain
it was the summer, when i yearn to shimmer
it was the autumn, when i tried to be sweeten
and,it was october, when i find the night much sober
or
was it that night when there is no sight of love and life
or was it the change and wreck from which i scared to fight

Feeling the quiet rise
Of true essence,
Silent power, steady and pure.

Splashing consciousness on my mind
It calms the soul,
And stirs the darkness within
To be seen, not feared.

And when we lifted our arms, night had already fallen
– our heavy heads spoke with the blazing stars.

The story of two people,
sitting in the gentle night.
They hold their hands
without impatient fear.
Maybe this is true intimacy?

Too many plans, too many
subtle strategies
in the hiding place—
everything to avoid
the pain after.

Longing for what could be,
we say goodbye
to the now,
that leaves so quickly.

Between words,
taming the common confusion,
we will never come any closer
to another human being.

Celebrating the quiet feeling
of comprehension,
absorbed by the paradox of facts—
above differences, imposed tattoos.

We are sitting in the deep,
friendly night,
holding entwined hands
with an ephemeral moment
of fulfilled, trusting intimacy.

Sultry summer breeze whispers,
Cools warm skin, carrying floral notes.
The gentle padding of tender soles treading
Plush moist earth. Pulsing planet perceptible,
Seamlessly sending signals as through osmosis
She is ready. Seeded and sprouting with new
Verdant growth. To feed the hungry cycle.
To give fresh inspiration to all creation.

The poet not in love
Is the violin never heard
The sunrise never seen
And the water never felt.
The fires never lit
The birds never in flight
The lips never touched
The meaning never found.

The poet not in love is
The journey never taken
The path never walked
The guitar with no strings
And the painter with no canvas.
The parent to no child
The treasure never discovered
The book with no beginning
The story with no reason.

The poet not in love is silent
And what a useless thing to be
As a poet.

He asked me what I had been doing.
I had been writing two books of poetry. But since I could not sell them and they were not making money I said what he could understand. I said nothing.