I'm not 22, I am 49 years old.
I am older than my father.
I sit alone curmudgeony reading books.
Society frightens me, and I fear change.
I look out the window into the day and shiver.
The temperature means nothing.
The sun hasn't touched my flesh in a month.
Let's let these letters slide into nothing...

to grow out my health
to grow out my self esteem
to grow out my sense of adventure
to grow out my happiness
to grow out my honesty
to grow out my bravery
to grow out my laughter
to grow out my openness
to grow out my vulnerability
to grow out my forgiveness
to grow out my potential
to grow out my inner mermaid
to grow out my trust
to grow out my creativity
to grow out my perseverance
to grow out my patience
to grow out my motivation
to grow out my willingness
to grow out my beliefs
to grow out my soul
to grow out my desire
to grow.

I saw the
                   frozen
                              w a t e r...

                                                          ­                                           ...strange that sweat
                                                         ­                             was pouring down my face....

                                                       The children playing silly games
                                                         seemed icy figures lost in space.

   ...and though cold flowed throughout
         my bones
  like rivers made of snowy stone...


                                                  ­                                                                 ­               warm was my skin like
                                                            ­                                                                 ­              drunken sin,
                                                            ­                                                             and now I'm lost;
                                                           ­                                                  a specter alone...

She rides the chanting waves
At the seas horizon,
In fires of star sheen and moon shine,
Sweet Niamh of the golden hair, and aqua eyes,

Princess of the green sea turtles,
Of the coral sea grottos,
Anemone naves and kelpie skins,
Trailing the rainbow schools of the whirling fin,

The whole twining ocean globe of blue is swooning
Under the milky waving skies and unfathoming deeps,
Her laughter lighting the unremembered bottom of the seas.

Hush, lullay.

Your treasures all

Encrust with rust,

Your trinket pleasures fall

        To dust.



Beneath the sapphire arch,

Upon the grassy floor,

Is nothing more

        To hold,

And play is over-old.

Your eyes

        In sleepy fever gleam,

Their lids droop

        To their dream.

You wander late alone,

The flesh frets on the bone,

Your love fails in your breast,

Here is the pillow.

Rest.

Birth
Will never be as
Glorious
As your
Existence

Wind
Will never be as
Soft
As your
Whisper

Music
Will never be as
Beautiful
as your
Voice

Flowers
Will never be as
Delicate
As your
Love

Chocolate
Will never be as
Sweet
As your
Kisses

My mothers words
Will never be as
Soothing
As your
Touch

Dragonflies
Will never be as
Jittery
As the
Butterflies
You give me

Blankets
Will never be as
Comforting
As your
embrace

Stars
Will never be as
Bright
As your
Eyes

The moon
Will never be as
full
As your
Lips

Death
Will never be as
Painful
As Missing you