I wish my life was like a poem
then I would be beautiful.
I would have rhythm, cadence, imagery;
my rhymes they would be plentiful.

I would have stanzas of separation,
my life would be in order.
They would build upon each other
from beginning to end -- clear borders.

Someone would have infused emotion,
clear meaning to my words;
something mysteriously discernible
the lack of which does hurt.

Instead I'm just a jumble of
unnecessary words and phrases.
No clear anything at all,
No future meaning to the ages.

How far
you ask
is the journey
and the needed task

this only of myself
I can say and  trust
a step at a time I take
as long as it does last.

I write to you
My dreams
On a parchment
Lavender scented
Pour my soul
Searing with desire
My secrets ooze
With blazing ink
& bold words

She shares her name with a flower
Together I hope we bloom
Come lay with me and I promise
To hold you from dusk until noon
My life was feeling cloudy
Until I met you
My world was so dark
But you give it a whole other hue

Drowning* *in a sea
Of bad thoughts, all hope is lost.
Searching for the cause.

I write poetry
for strangers
instead of my friends
because I can't see
my fears and dreams
reflected off the eyes
of strangers they way I can
in the mirrors
that are my loved ones
and looking
at other people is far
easier than looking
at myself
trying to find
the spots that gleam
in the sunlight