| THE LAND WHERE SOULS PLAY |
An awakening to dawn mist on the water,
flowing Spirit's streams to God's alter,
purifying essence whistles through the trees,
images of the sacred blowing in the breeze.
Flights of fancy from birds up high,
feathers of many colors filtering through the sky,
sun, moon and stars envelops Earth's dome,
we're all birds of a feather, finding our way home.
Spectacle of mesmerizing movements flashing in the mind,
melting pots of humans, secrets hard to find,
love all embracing whispers on the wind,
no physical presence, ecstasy from a light dimmed.
Gifts of joy enmeshed in music and dance,
visualizing images filtering in a trance,
warriors in a drumbeat at journeys end,
back to the womb of creation enmeshed in a substance blend.
Wondrous dreams in the stillness of the dark,
journey on uplifting voyages in paradise park,
thunder and lightening points the way,
a prelude to the land where Soul's play.
| UNREQUITED LOVE |
I've been holding this picture of you in my heart,
that keeps a spark glowing when we are apart;
You never notice the way I yearn -
Nor the way you make my pulse churn.
You never take heed of the way you knock me off of my feet -
The way I find your caressing smile ever so sweet;
You don't understand what I mean to say when I return your glance -
the one gaze that sends me into a hopeless trance;
There is nothing more this poor soul has to imbue,
than to not go another day without being closer to you.
| US |
|
In secret we meet
In silence I wait
Longing for your love
We've opened the gate.
Confessions in a kiss
Expression in a glance
A touch so craved
My mind in a trance.
A dream of a touch
So fresh and so new
I wish to be closer
Closer to your.
Happy together
Scared when away
Always together
One sweet day.
| OH MY DARLING |
|
I really don't know what to write,
It really is a sorry plight,
I only wish I had you here,
And then I'd whisper in your ear,
(Maybe you would say it too)
Oh my darling, I love you!
| I LOVE YOU |
An awakening to dawn mist on the water,
flowing Spirit's streams to God's alter,
purifying essence whistles through the trees,
images of the sacred blowing in the breeze.
Flights of fancy from birds up high,
feathers of many colors filtering through the sky,
sun, moon and stars envelops Earth's dome,
we're all birds of a feather, finding our way home.
A blazing sunrise st the beginning of a new day;
A gentle breeze that ruffles the tiny hairs on a neck;
A cool shade beneath the feathery fingers of the weeping willow tree;
A splash of ice cold water on Summer's hottest day;
A child's look of wonder when the anticipated Christmas package stands open before him;
A roller coaster ride that plummets to earth only to return to the sky;
A whisper in the ear that tickles from the inside out;
A look that speaks from the eyes, not the lips;
A feeling not to be described with mere words. .
| LOVING IN TRUTH |
Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain:
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,
I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain:
Oft turning others' leaves to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burn'd brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay,
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows,
And others' feet still seem'd but strangers in my way.
Thus great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my trewand pen, beating myself for spite,
Fool, said my Muse to me, look in thy heart and write.
| SHAKESPEAR-Sonnet CXVI: Let me not to marriage of true minds admit impediments |
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
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