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A Snake slithered through the Desert-
He snaked over the cracks-
He hissed at the sun, and its warm rays,
Made sure he covered his tracks.

The reptile stopped to rest-
Under a large shrub, he stayed-
In hopes to hide from the sun’s wrath,
And to hide from Coyote, A Snake was afraid.

He scanned the outside with his slitted eyes,
Then shot out of the shrub, like he was slipping from death,
His eyes appeared to be as a still as a statue,
In front of him was a wild Coyote, A snake held his breath.

He had not moved a muscle,
He was silent as he knew he was the prey,
His tongue dry, snakeskin slowly shedding-
Making no sudden movements, he backed away.

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When he came- only Darkness filled

Not the Welcoming light

Promised- Fading into the night

Those behind me unfulfilled

His light touch pulling me in, into

My chariot ride- past

The house which holds Blossomed life

Once life with innocence-

He dawdled along the Field once held

Back from- The toll of the Bells daunting to me as the familiar

Red bricks come into view

We pass by the old rickety

Bridge, where the water flows under-

All the simple moments flooding back-

The pull stronger now, away

from all that lays behind

Lost into the Void

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Because I could no longer see —

The light behind the dark —

Or could it not be seen by me?

The hope so slight yet stark.

There is no life, if it lacks death —

No dawn without a dusk —

If Nature is so – so unclear –

There is none left to trust…

Complex simplicity is the

Beginning of the end —

For all in this world, nonetheless,

Exists with a close friend

Are not emotions, all attached?

Connected yet apart —

Since opposites do all attract —

Is hate not love, just dark?

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Your eye takes in what you favor

Funnel vision endless

The world would become blind in bliss

Your eyes opened unless.

Your eye does not see truth or lie

A lense filters out sight

Everything around you limited

What envisioned not right.

Gaze up and and view what is ahead

Release all restriction

Look forward and in true nature

Heaven’s true creation.

From shore to horizon release

Wind blowing, sunlight bright.

Nothing but freedom and relief.

Refuse to be blind to bias.

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What indignity it is to become emaciated

At the nefarious satisfied hands,

What you are desperate for is caressed by one

With a prickling urge continuing its demands.

Along with merriment a bewildered mind arises

Of in my specter hides-

When overshadowed by a diffident tinkle,

Which disparages the presence who bides.

A capricious spirit, the fortuneless thoughts-

Or a being’s perception that demeans

Alas my comments croaking,

In the colossal crowds will only mumble as it seems.

Losing yourself within the waves-

Do I let myself become swallowed?

Breathing in- Breathing out- and yet I still wonder

When will the intrusive debate become hallowed?

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If  “Pain” is the thing with thunder
That strikes the soul with fire
And drowns the mind in restless slumber,
Then how is pain my savior?

When dreams are crushed by violent waves
Under the raging skies,
Despair will make me strong and brave -
No longer hear my cries.

When howling winds destroy my spark,
I burn a match in the rain
To see some light in the dark.
Oh - mighty tempest - feel my pain

The most beautiful of hearts
Have weathered tragic storms.
A woeful end - a hopeful start
No grief is forever.

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The stones are down on top the ground -

Their soft glue has been set.

No longer is that tapping sound:

Warm bricks, tough turf, no fret.

There is no wind - there is no storm -

the air is very still.

Comfortable and calmly warm

The fire that chases the chill -

The aching legs that yearn delights

To look at all the sights

Run, for you must go -

See what’s over your shoulder and to your front -

Jump over the log - hear the wind -

It smells of freshness and holds you back -

Can’t stop - you’ll miss so much if you do -

Fall - smell the flowers and dirt - the shadow over you - your heart buzzes like a bee -

Rest with an aching body

and brain which has been spun.

A heart that hurts and legs -

Those legs that ache to run.

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3-1-3, this journey is Me —my Eye now left to dry

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3-1-3, this journey is Me —my Eye now left to dry

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—The Clock has struck at Three—I see

My Eye yet locked in time;

The gleaming sun not barely ‘wake—

Tense seconds racing by—

The Clock has struck at Three Thirteen—

My flesh returning stale;

The gnawing gash—grim-e refrain

Leaves noon’s light ‘loan to die—

Now Three and Thirty one’s pristine—

A light—here dressed by nine;

The furthest point from innocence—

The road that dims all Sines—

The Clock has struck at Three—I see

Now 3-1-3 will prime—

My fractured mem’ries lay to take—

My soul. My heart. My mind.

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When tis the day the Olive decays             And the somber winged Crow-    Perches upon the husk of mine                        My life comes to a close                        Must my Roses that besiege me-               Cry tears of scarlet red?                            And the children of my children-               Bloom in a room of Lead?                                                                     The Crow, a forgiving creature-                     Did not call a murder-                       And he watches my Burning Heart-       Grow from my disorder                       Do the Hyacinth grow on me?                      Nay, for the Soil undone-                     Has withered, and the gold Sunlight-           Has gone back to the Sun-                                                                                     

# data[].attributes.subject
When tis the day the Olive decays             And the somber winged Crow-    Perches upon the husk of mine                        My life comes to a close                        Must my Roses that besiege me-               Cry tears of scarlet red?                            And the children of my children-               Bloom in a room of Lead?                                                                     The Crow, a forgiving creature-                     Did not call a murder-                       And he watches my Burning Heart-       Grow from my disorder                       Do the Hyacinth grow on me?                      Nay, for the Soil undone-                     Has withered, and the gold Sunlight-           Has gone back to the Sun-                                                                                     

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A Family — so bound by Chains —

The Linking of two souls —

The Clinking like the sound of rain

And staining of the whole —

Confined by blood, Eternally,

And living Trapped is dull —

For Forever is not Always

Eventually a skull —

Not — always — chosen in our brains —

Code Shackles and Controls —

For Immortality breeds pain —

Just left to count the days —

Connection — never broke in vain

And heals that open hole —

For centuries remain ingrained

But — loving costs a toll.

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Success does not come from a purse

It comes not from the sword

It rarely shines the color gold

Its modest, unadorned

Success does not come swift or short

It comes not overnight

It always grows from give and take

With effort, care, and fight

Success may seem controlled by funds

Or locked inside the bank

Success is never earned with force

Success is heart not rank

Success is measured not by wealth

It can’t be bought or bribed

Mere power never wins success

But gratitude, contentment, and delight — just might

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Pitter, Patter. pitter patter. The rain—

They blocked my every path with Pain

The Sun laughed, the Sky watched.

My roots in soil, the stem of my body,  were splotched

A hand reached in, offering help and care—

I’ll be okay now, where there is Air.

Where there is Air, I will be able to follow my own path

No longer the need to feel their wrath—

The Sun shone, the Sky watched again

No one was to really blame—

We all learn to move on, the past scotched

All, splotched.

To be fair,

We are aware,

It’s just too much to bear.

Pitter patter.

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The only promise I have made,
is just for you my love.
That in the end when I am laid,
I will belong to you.

Until then, enjoy what's given--
our brief visiting time.
When I make a bad decision,
and see a glimpse of you.

I feel peace thinking of you, but
there's a darkness you bring.
I do often question just what
draws me toward you each day

But when it comes, my final breath,
I’ll close my weary eyes--
and fall into your arms my sweet death;
the only promise kept