My voice cries out from forced silence,
Thunderous volume in my ears,
Words preparing to do violence
Against my fear to face my fears.

The times I spoke I have been heard,
But poetry’s not for today.
The world needs action, not a word,
Though I’d prefer to run away.

I wish my writing would suffice
So that I never have to be.
But still, I make this sacrifice
Real life needs the real me.

O silent voice, speak through my pen!
A spirit to articulate!
You will be heard, not if but when!
O voice, it’s you I cultivate!

If he resists his tendency
To inhabit his fantasy,
Would he welcome reality,
Over his made up tragedy?

Open to let his eyes be true,
Perceiving real as something new,
Made to feel life like his dreams do,
When dreaming is all that he knew?

To live for real to no avail,
His fantasies would never fail.
He kept the world behind a veil,
No real people matched his tale.

You’d say all his fantasy does
Is fantasize imagined flaws.
He’d love the real him because
He was fantastic as he was.

A broken heart is
A heart
That hasn’t forgiven
Yet.

Your forgiving heart is
A heart
That hasn’t recovered
Yet.

Your recovering heart is
A heart
That hasn’t loved enough
Yet.

Your loving heart is
A heart
That can’t be broken again
Yet.

A broken heart is
A heart
That doesn’t really exist.
Yet.

Beneath the paleness of the autumn sky,
The tired ground takes respite from the heat,
Life departs with green of leaves fallen dry,
Barren and ready for growth to repeat.

Cold wind crackles against the branches bare,
And mornings now too quickly greet the night,
While the birds and butterflies disappear,
Warm raindrop kisses wet with chilling bite.

The weight of the gray air wilts the flowers.
Have pastels washed away for evermore?
Weary nature calls upon its powers
And from its weakest point starts to restore.

I shield my eyes in refuge from the cold,
Imagining the life there is to mourn.
Then I’ll recall the lesson nature told.
You need a little death to be reborn.

Forgive me, my heart beats too fast.
I suffer from lightheadedness.
In frigid sweats I shrink aghast.
I panic from my breathlessness.

My weakened legs won’t let me stand.
My skin sizzles like it’s been shocked.
Can’t calm the tremor in my hand.
I’m speechless as if jaw’s been locked.

My eyes are crossed in confusion.
I’m frozen like an icy blue.
I’m afraid it’s no illusion.
My body’s broken around you.