Portrait of A Man

Placed inside an interior room hangs a portrait of a man perfectly groomed.
Behind a mischievous grin and a brow that bows low hides a soul of deep passion growing bitter and old.
Covered in a blackened shrowed his heart is kept warm, beating in secret for the love of life worn.
Coursing through his veins is the sweetness of honey and the touch of his skin I pray ner to miss.
Lending to his eyes a glorious glow is the hope that he carries for loves tender kiss.
In hands of gentle strength he carries compassion in an unyielding grip.
On shoulders broad in grace he bears the weight of responsibility unknown. His foot solidly planted he walks undeterred toward a destination, a place of which only he's heard.
But it can only be reached when the logic lets go and his mind is free in the clouds white like snow.
But the fear of a fall that could cause him such pain keep his tenderness bound like a prisoners chains.
With breath warm like the summer and lips sweet just like spring he speaks words that are cold like the winters would bring.
As the juices of fruit that are pleasant to taste I crave for his thoughts through my mind they would grace.
As I gaze upon this portrait of you I look to the future and see the mountains you'll move.
Just what I've seen is of perfect delight.
And reveal all my secrets to you I just might.

Who are you to critisize

So who are you to criticize? Who are you to analyze? I've all my own thoughts and feelings, just like you, so who are you to criticize?

Just because they're not like yours, just because they're not worded the way yours are doesn't make them juvenile or worth anything less than your scholarly vocabulary.

Truth be told a higher IQ won't raise you above in that broken defunct relationship you find yourself trapped in now does it?

So just who are you to criticize, scoff or scorn. It's my soul I bear not yours.

Let me be just who I am, free and willing to show how I care.

I say it again, who are you to criticize?

Threads from my past

November 10,2005

How does one even begin to describe how wonderful it feels to emerge from the darkest of nights? How do I speak of the glorious freedom of breath, and the warm caress of days dawn?

All of the black and dirt from the pain is turned to bright and fresh spring of rain.

It's perfect and growing with every breath that I take, filling my soul with the love that is made. Knowledge and wisdom lie at my feet while compassion and kindness I hold in my hand as petals so sweet.

Like true loves kiss upon the nape of my neck is the tenderest love of which I have missed.

All the stars in the sky that twinkle and shine, could never compare to this love that's divine. It released me from bondage to a self I despised and snatched me from fire of evil design. It cleansed me inside from sins harshest stain like the waters that fall from heavens pure rain. Grateful I am to have weathered the storm for now I do rest in safety and warmth.



February 2, 2006

Have you ever been listening to a song on the radio and even tho you've heard it hundreds of times before for some reason, probably because of where you are in life you finally understand the words.And the meaning of it somehow describes exactly how you feel at that precise moment in time. Usually I find a line or two that stands out above the rest. I wish I could take all of those verses and write my own song. What a crazy song that would make. I think I'll keep a few of them and save it for a future time. ... "Two lips must insist on two more to be kissed,or they'll never know what love can do." ~To each his own ... "When you get what you want but not what you need. When you love someone but it goes to waist. I will try to fix you. Tears stream, Down your face. When your too in love to let it go" ~Coldplay ... "The more I see the less I know" ~ U2




February 23, 2006

Like and elephant upon her chest the pressure to push herself harder and further was ever present. Perfection was required, her best not enough. Judgement~ real or perceived tore holes in her heart. Guilt beat her with fists leaving her broken and bruised. Love~ and elusive butterfly in her hand. Always fearful it should fly away, unable to wrap her fingers tightly to hold. She tried to be grateful for it's momentary beauty and pray that it stay forever there lay.




October 8, 2008

Sometimes I lay just beneath the blanket of understanding. I see the pattern and shapes and colors almost touch it yet just out of reach.






October 9, 2008

Like holding breath in my hands is as holding the ever elusive beauty of emotional security and tender affection upon my heart.