I still remember the way she carried herself
With dignity and respect like she earned it
Her smile ever so infectious
It could turn sad faces into happy ones
From the moment she spoke
Her voice gave way to a gentle nature
As if it could put any crying baby to sleep
I can vividly picture her beauty
The perfect role model she is
Standing in her modest dress
With a natural look on her face
So angelic, so innocent
Her arms covered me in a tight embrace
The feeling of love spilling onto me
A type of euphoric high
The kind you feel when you have a sister
Who protects and cares
A bond that is irreplaceable
By two people who are linked by blood
Their love for each other is that strong
As if I don’t already have that
But with who? And will this love remain forever?

"Becoming more me"
a whisper rising from the depths,
where silence births creation’s glow,
where poetry finds breath.

"Words out of nowhere flow in me",
you paint the night with untamed thought,
a soul that lingers, sleepless, bright,
where dawn and ink are caught.

"Still upward in this journey I be",
climbing where the fog is deep,
where sorrow walks but faith remains,
where echoes softly weep.

"Love drifts, lost inside some emotion",
embers flicker, then ignite,
falling into tear-streaked eyes,
turning darkness into light.

"Bringing out more of me",
your voice is both the storm and sky,
your poetry a lantern’s glow
when heavy shadows lie.

Weeping Willow, your words move like rivers,
unfolding between stillness and storm.
Each verse a pulse, each thought a breath,
a melody where the soul is reborn.
If you find these words, may they be a mirror,
reflecting the beauty you bring to the world.

"A distant shore sang sonnets"
on the edge of twilight dreams,
where harmonies ride on sapphire tides,
and the world hums beneath moonbeams.

You paint the sky in tangerine sighs,
blushing clouds caught in secret play,
as if the sun flirts with the horizon—
a lover hidden at break of day.

"I drifted past the sunset,
where horizons make their place,"
You follow sparrows through olive trees,
scribbling wonder into time’s embrace.

The world blooms in your verses,
puppies play, fireflies dance,
even distant mountains lean in close,
swaying to your words’ romance.

"She lay on the beach,
the sun kissing her moist skin,"
A poet who flirts with the sunlight itself,
yet still finds beauty deep within.

Your lines are salt-kissed lullabies,
soft harmonies to warm the soul.
You turn nature’s breath into melodies,
with the gentlest touch, you make us whole.

She writes in whispers, in echoes that stay,
Carving lost names in the wind’s soft sway.
Her ink is sorrow, her verses bleed,
A requiem sung for the hearts that need.

"When someone who loves us fades away,"
She mourns the words we failed to say.
Regret clings tight in the hush of night,
Where silence weeps in the absence of light.

Yet love, in her hands, is vast and free,
A grand heist stolen from sky and sea.
"The sunset’s glow, so bold, so bright,"
She claims the stars, the waves, the light.
For love is not caged—it is wild, untamed,
A river that flows, never to be named.

She speaks of love beyond mere touch,
Of time-defying, endless trust.
"Love reshapes, rebuilds, redefines,"
She whispers of love that never confines.
A fire that burns yet does not consume,
A madness that dances beneath the moon.

And when she writes of power’s weight,
Of hands that build and hands that break,
She lays before us the choice of fate—
"Will you rule & hold position of power?
OR will you love, and set love free?"

Oh, poet of grief, of love, of fire,
Your words take flight, they never tire.
They carve their names on hearts unseen,
A melody woven in gold between.

If ever ink could outlive time,
It would be yours—sublime, divine.

In the soft glow of your sorrow,
where the sun fades, and shadows follow,
I see the tender ache in your verse,
each line a whisper, a silent curse.

“Seems Endless,” you write, and the moon listens,
reflecting the tears that your soul glistens.
In the night’s embrace, you break, you bend,
hoping the darkness would never end.

In Missed Connection, your heart speaks loud,
a love lost, yet covered by a shroud.
“I would trade my life for another day,”
for a smile that once chased your clouds away.

Guilt weighs heavy in your heart’s core,
a stain that no tears can restore.
But your words are rich, like wine aged deep,
capturing the pain that makes us weep.

In The Cost, you share the price of love,
how dreams shatter, pushed and shoved.
Yet in your heart, you still hope, still give,
for in your sorrow, we all learn to live.

You say it’s Too Late to turn back time,
yet in your regret, there’s beauty sublime.
To let go of love, to feel that sting,
a silent price that time cannot bring.

Love’s Altruism, you so plainly say,
is not in promises, but in the day-to-day.
To give with no return, to let love flow,
a lesson in grace that we all should know.

Jess, in every word you breathe,
there’s a truth that we all believe.
Your pain is poetry, your sorrow a song,
in the melody of life where we all belong.

The sea hums ancient songs,  
pulling me into its salt-laced poem.  
Barefoot, reckless, wild and free,  
I chase the whispers where mermaids flee.  

Your words are waves, restless and true,  
stirring tides in silent blue.  
Each line a shore where echoes meet,  
where longing and freedom softly greet.  

Does trust return on gentle wing,  
like birds that find their way to spring?  
Or once it’s lost, does it remain,  
a shadow cast, a lingering stain?  

Yet even shadows shift with time,  
stitched by light, unstitched by rhyme.  
Where trust has frayed, it learns to mend,  
worn, but never at its end.  

I am the wind, the desert breeze,  
the ocean spray and rustling leaves.  
I am the hush of dawn before the rise,  
the twilight’s breath as shadows creep.  

You are the sigh between each tide,  
a fleeting spark the stars confide.  
Unbound, untamed, you touch and go,  
carrying whispers only the wild will know.  

I am, and I am not,  
in the space between breaths.  
A shadow of light, a whisper of death,  
where time and breath are never what they seem.  

Between dream and wake, you weave a place,  
where fleeting moments leave no trace.  
Yet even as they slip and fade,  
the wind still knows the path you made.  

—For Nancy Maine, whose words wander like the sea and sing like the wind.  

And I—  
I listen close, where silence sways,  
where echoes breathe between the waves.  
For voices like yours never fade—  
they simply find new skies to claim.

In shadows of 2020, your words still linger,
Soft whispers that dance on time's gentle finger.
Like the mystical sky that weeps with grace,
Your verses drip softly, leaving no trace.

Your tears, they seeped through the lines we read,
Like radiance that persists, a light we need.
Where have the unraveled scars gone to hide,
Those marks of growth, where truths collide?

Your mysterious mists still haunt the air,
With empty promises and unspoken care.
Where is the dream that once flew so free,
Like jellyfish effloresce, drifting to be?

The curves of heaven, the grain of truth—
Your words once captured both youth and proof.
Now silence remains where the cursed night drifts,
Where your wobbled strokes once found their shifts.

Where are the glorious jams of your art?
What stilled your pen, what made it depart?
For in your absence, your poetry stays,
Like a mark left behind, lingering always.

We wait for your voice to rise once more,
To hear your spirits and the world you explore.
So tell me, dear poet, where have you been?
Will your ink ever rise, to dance again?