Curious to watch
one over another;
their love is good luck

The caretaker
being cared for
by the caretaken

Yet this old mom
still gives in sound
"Son, get home safely"

Her voice, to there,
shares space with
empty chairs,

and where once
were shrugs and eye rolls,
patience twines subtly into silence

I.
So long are the thoughts of someone so beautiful
pulled in by a vision of body and mind so young
chasing inspiration to steal the gaze of a woman
like a fire that burns so to a heart seated in passion
and even harder to fight the warmth of attraction,
yet a gentlemen waits until he is given the pleasure.
II.
In a moment, one can see his eyes filled with pleasure
given a glow whilst reflecting something beautiful.
She never shies away from the design of his attraction,
hard to build a foundation on a ground yet so young.
Yet there is no limit, even one such as age, to limit passion,
rarely does time measure wisdom between a girl or a woman.
III.
His pheromones work magic to his beating heart for a woman.
She seeks to be the resting of his desires that fulfill his pleasure.
There is a slow creeping thought that feelings are merely passion,
and there is little but a burning lust rather than something beautiful.
Harder are the connections with the ones who venture young,
but an old soul has the experiences that altered fates attraction
IV.
There are those who walk away from such an attraction
Envisioning a different path with an older woman
Seeing little to gain mentally from a person fairly young
Never realizing that her mind was always his pleasure
Not just intellect, but thoughts that were oh so beautiful,
With words that reflect such a bright heart of passion.
V.
No matter resistances or distances, their connection is their passion.
They write to impress one another, flirting to increase the attraction.
Displaying their hearts for each other in writings so beautiful,
many poems composed for and because of, a certain woman.
Never by touch but a pen evoking feelings with written pleasure,
sharing in a cryptic way the hidden feeling from when young.
VI.
Still one cannot find the power to resistant a flower, young.
Merely looking for a fuel to fire our deepest passion,
never forgetting the strength of giving pleasure.
Baring his shyness to show complicated attraction,
in the pursuit of a hope that she is no ordinary woman.
Like hoping on a sunrise, but knowing it will be beautiful.
VII.
Intricate is the passion in the face of his attraction.
So too is the zeal of the wanting young woman.
Still the greatest pleasure is that she is beautiful.

And your black hair
Covering my face
As you rest your chin on my shoulder
Breathing hard into my ear
You whisper softly
"I really ******* like you"
And you let your head fall
On my chest
My heart beat against your cheek
Yours against my rib
I respond
" me too love ...me  too "

To whom it may concern.
Through memory and thought
I have seen it all.
About those already gone
And those yet to come
I am concerned.

I have seen a tree in autumn high
Far and further still its shade did fall.
Blessed from above and chained to the ground
As day by day there was less from a day.
Thus I have seen how earth slowly bled
Teardrops of yellow, through orange, to red
Discarding the many, sparing but few.  

So I have seen a rose that dropped its petals
Upon the bed of someone's tomorrow.  
Stained from desire of promises clashing
Half empty the sheets come morning remained.
Thus I have seen bitter sweetness and sorrow
When moments and faces were borrowed at will
Piled for later, traded for thrill.

I have heard the songs brought up by joy
Carried forth by comfort and faith, elated with hope.
So I have heard the laments and prayers at night  
Nurtured tirelessly by fear and by sin, bred in despair.
Dread be my comfort and I shall fear no more!
Fear consume my faith and I am not a sinner!
Sin dry out my hope and I shall hail you forevermore!
Forevermore and ‘till the end of time
Take me at least to the edge of this very night
To the brink of the day and back nevermore!

Yet, I know of a seed that bit through the frost
When prospect of morning yielded to chance.
Born to commence though bound to the End
Bathing in blessing of fire ignited by rain.
Thus I know of a smile that sprang out of hope
Eyes that craved for the shivering light
And a heart that beat over cries in the night!

Through memory and thought
I have seen it all.
Counting the days as I pass them by
By the grace of the wind,
By the will of the sky.
From where all the roads begin
To where at last they meet again
My memories are aching
But my thoughts are asking: ˝Why˝?

The proverbial
Better jump down a manhole light yourself a candle
Plays away at sensory deprivation
As soon as shadows dance around the wall

Well, a modern day cave
Such as the ones prophets receive their callings from God in
I suppose it only means
Truth lurks in the subterranean

On second thought
Should write this poem
Tomorrow morning

If I could put to words
what this year was,
I would say--
****.

**** this ******* year.

Thirteen years into
the second millenium,
was as unlucky as the number
said it would be.

This year was about
being on my own,
being sad,
being alone.

Yet I found,
poetry, and that death
could never be the answer
to questions I'd rather not ask.

I found friends
in people halfway
across the whole
world.

Love from the people
of my kind--
poets--
who loved and despaired.

This year was not
the one I would remember;
because new beginnings
are often disguised
as painful endings.

So here is to
my new beginning.