Monday, May 23, 2005

For Adam

I stare at the empty sheet of paper
completly devoid of letters or words
and think of you.
The words are easily spoken
not easily written.
I want to look into your eyes
and say the words and sentences
that taunt my hand toward the page
as I cry inside at the thought
of revealing my innermost soul
to the one person i deem worthy.
He has found the goodness of my heart
and helped it expand with his.
I want to write the feeling so badly
but I discover the vanity.
For it is impossible to express what we are.
The page remains blank
until I hear from you again.




White Rose

Fear rears its ugly head always-
the inevitability of change-
drastic.
Wilting petals spilling, what will happen?
Too long has the white rose looked toward the sky,
its ivory velveteen pores drinking up joy.
With the blink of an eye:
disapointment, confusion.
Beauty comes in two extremes.
An undying hybrid.
A rose will always be beautiful.
But
pain, sorrow.
The scripts are flipped:
and the white rose becomes black.

I Have Not Seen A Winter

I have not seen
a winter so cold
trees so barren and raw.
No winter has appeared so bleak.
No wind so harsh in its words it speaks.
I know not what this sadness seeks.
But what commences soon will cease.


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