Perhaps it was

I heard your voice calling,
the sullen dreams of youth whispering
as fires raged while you stood tall,
so dark in your stance
head layed back like you were capturing
the essence of ashes,
or perhaps it was the winds of change
coursing around you as you broke free
in your darkness
the shallowness of escape
wasn’t to be all that remained.
We rode the storm of night winds
that tore like banshees through bended trees,
each snapped branch creating a melody
of crystal ships broken
in pieces and shards
drifting down to the bottom
of an endless dream.
Eyes that saw it all,
that knew each memory of pain and loss
choosingto move it all together into a final storm.
and then gone you moved it all
with the flick of your beautiful hand
and we stood there in the desert,
covered with red dust and lost in an empty place,
till I awoke
and you were gone,
my ears ringing with sweet words
as the rain fell silently down.
Perhaps it was a piece of you,
energy through time and space
and the longing to hear the rhythm
of a long ago ghost
lost at the end,
finding a soul open to hear
your haunting words,
come closer here to me.

Sun whispers

I need to be in the whisper of a setting sun

as the rays fall down upon me like the dream of stars

that wait behind the curtain

readying their selves for their evening role.

I long to touch the sky as the night air cools this atmosphere

and my mind reaches into the banks of the day,

remembering moments of ups and downs,

ready for the darkness to envelop my thoughts

taking them into the bliss of a dream of tomorrow.

I wait as the silence fills the spaces,

as the birds nestle down for the night that holds

softly like a mothers hands,

and I watch as their white forms turn to nothing,

no longer visible,

only imagined in my mind from what I’d seen

waiting for the whisper to come

a gift from the setting sun.


Missing presence

Between the colors of a hint of you
Present in the moment as thoughts turn to words
unspoken and remembered between the pages of our days
mysteries of tomorrow
of a quiet yesterday.
Dreams move past like trains at night
whistles empty and a ghostly rumble
moving in the darkness
here then gone,
solitary light to mark the end
as it moves farther from view.
Then only silence lays in the place
where strangers unmet passed from this place
as we watch and wait for a new day
beside the track that lies empty, waiting.
The wind begins to pick up speed
as the moon sits silent and cold above
and we wander the night
in search of a light
wondering where it has gone,
the muse of a conductor barreling through
pull the cord and let his presence be felt
in the solitary wail of a train
passing through unnoticed
except by a few
who needed to feel the rush of movement
as the earth moved below feet
and sound rushed by
heading onward to the next crossing.
In that moment of peace and silence
caught somewhere between
the dreams of a morning yet awakening
I thoughht I heard his laugh
carried on the breeze
as he slipped away like a storm
out on the wind
always moving.