The Structure

She quietly examined each room within the structure,
the first, large and vacant, with a spiralling staircase to which she'd climb.
A heavy door, she struggled to push open,
only to find a window open, pouring in cold drifts of time.

She went on to another room,
the door creaked in agony and grief,
closed for so very long,
an outpouring of relief.

The next room, locked,
but a key covered in dust upon the floor,
she kneeled, pausing, questioning why,
pushing open to reveal a room filled of beautiful décor.

Though rich of luxury, she moved on ahead,
what more could she see, the next room being dread.

Passing through the long corridor,
a large window, curtains drawn,
she opened to see storm clouds tumbling,
as she continued on.

Two doors joined,
as though hand in hand,
her heart warmed, as she opened carefully,
to a balcony touched in love, overlooking the beauty of the land.

Her eyes filled up, tears of joy,
she could see so far upon this wonderous day,
each emotion within each room,
a step to find her way.

You Did Not See Me

A rather unusually sparked poem written in a morning of a half-asleep state. I can't quite come up with the manner to which one may see it, and I view my position in life as more a spiritual one, with many beliefs respected in all of heart, so however you feel in views of this writing, I suppose there is no wrong way.

I have been here before,
another time, long ago, another face,
as I held this man's ill head upon my hands,
in a far off forgotten place.
I absorbed his pain into my own soul,
breathed life back into his body as he thirsted for air.
No one knew of me,
but I was there.
I traveled along the essence of time,
carrying the burdens of each life, each death upon my own heart,
drifting in and out of each soul I could touch,
in my immortal form, taking on the presence of man, of woman, a role in each part.
You did not see me,
as I walked along with you,
beside you,
as I stood before you and spoke within you.
You did not see me,
as I was the same as you, as anyone, another face within the crowd.
I bore the same scars of life, of death,
of sorrow,
bearing witness to the ever changing shroud.
I am but a single traveler,
upon these grounds to which you walk,
as I try to reach, and touch the many,
whispering words through the winds, I talk.
You carry me,
as you did once long ago, in kindness smiles along the lines of your face,
and I'll continue my journey, absorbing your pain into my soul,
with the soft brush of my hand, your tears, my solemn soul will comfort in warm
embrace.

A Friendship Poem

Online friends on Twitter sparked this writing in me, in the beginning morning hours Oct. 28. My postings of other articles beyond poetry and of course my statements of how I felt poetic, had @kchall saying: "SEIZE the moment, jot it down!!!" Then so kindly a "hope everything is well in your land..." by @detlef_c - and thus began the birth of "A Friendship Poem" : Entitled by them as well and so agreed upon.

Yes, the lands flowing in fields of burnt umber drifts through golden fields, only
now the shimmer shadowed in the darkened lights
the breeze drifts between the darkened trees
dancing in the last of clinging autumn leaves
taking on the presence of dreamy sights
crackles in the distance a light floating, nearing ever-closer, the chill of the air
creeps through the soul,
unafraid yet a step back
but it is but only the smiling face of a friend, carrying his lantern,
emerging in warmth, a hand to guide, beside him a young foal
following, near behind to the old barn to rejoin with its mother for a rest
time stands still, ever still born into this life test
the aroma of fresh baked bread and coffee drawn into the old farmhouse...
invited to join, a seat upon the old hardwood chair
in comfort, chimney fires crackling, this gift of friendship, held in memory
for they brightened the night, of pleasantry we share.

Like Photographs From the Past

Black and white,
caught in between contrast.
She stepped ahead into the white brush of leaves,
growth from the blackened soil.
Like photographs of the past.

A wisp of color as she moved ahead,
the softness of a pink rose, reaching to touch,
upon the thorns she bled.

A tear fell,
in the sharpness of this beauty,
as she grasped it with her hands,
as she looked around at her world void of color,
upon strange illuminated lands.

Another tear fell,
a splash of blue upon a leaf below,
she kneeled down to pick it up,
green started to grow.

She walked further ahead,
the flower held gently against her breast.
Her heart warmed in this precious discovery,
her spirit in search of more,
to calm her quest.

Soft yellow began to emerge in her surroundings,
an unusual joyful glow,
Blue rain began falling, from a blue sky,
and her heart followed a cascading rainbow.

These strange lands,
began to dance in orange sunset and purple clouds stretching far,
though a sharp awakening, needed to feel,
through her eyes, into her soul, she held love,
transcending into, forever looked upon in beauty,
a softly glowing star.

At the End of the Day

The sun sets, light behind a shadow, quickly passing questions, where the day did go.

A Treasure

Of Green and yellow, or gold should I say? A treasure most valuable in this leafy array.

Flowing Visions

Fluid ripples through the sky, the sand I cannot touch, but with only the eye.

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She Wonders

It doesn't feel much like pain anymore,
as she reaches once again to find his place empty on the bed.
The tears fall, but not so much for him,
but for the little girl, playing in her room instead.
It doesn't feel much like loneliness,
as a meal is prepared for a family but only to seat just two.
Thoughts set, caring for her child,
laughters shared as she grows, her best put in, is all she can do.
It doesn't feel much like emptiness,
as she listens to the sounds of his breathing each night,
his arms never reaching out to hold anymore,
talks now, just a hush of words, for his love she gives up the fight.
She wonders if he'll feel that pain,
as he reaches to find her place empty on the bed,
will tears ever fall for her,
or for the thoughts of their little girl, as they drift inside his head.
She wonders if he'll feel the loneliness,
to prepare his meals all on his own,
will his thoughts remember how he's set it all aside,
laughing with his friends how nothing could hold him down, as he sits there all
alone.
She wonders if he'll feel empty,
to her it doesn't matter anymore anyway.
She hopes her words in time echo back at him,
as he just let her love slip away.
It doesn't feel much like pain anymore,
as she reaches for the door.
It doesn't feel much like loneliness in the room that is empty,
as she knows love has more than one side, but its too late for him to see.

The Seedling, the Medallion, and the Thorn

He was but a young man, in need of much knowledge,
when he met upon her face, pouring out so much warmth,
her gown glowing, flowing white, dancing around her,
as if in song, fluttering as butterflies grace upon the meadows,
quietly, so quietly,
she whispered,
“You must take these three things with you upon your travels”
She handed him, a simple seedling, a shining gold medallion,,
and a thorn from the vines of a rose.
He asked, confused, “What could these be for?”
She whispered into his soul, “Your heart already knows.”
Her essence and beauty disappeared into the winds,
as they swirled leaves upon the breeze.
He folded the items carefully inside a kerchief
and placed them in his pocket.
The significance of these curious items, he was about to find.
He continued to reach a part of the earth,
with the air difficult to take in,
trees withering, brown dead grass, and in the middle of its depths,
the sounds of crying,
a mother holding her child.
“He has not the air to breathe.”
He silently removed his kerchief from his pocket,
and took the seedling out in his hands,
without hesitation, he planted them into the earth, as he kneeled beside them.
Her tears dampened the ground,
and quickly a plant emerged, sprouting leaves.
The heavy air surrounding them cleared,
a gasp of breath brought forth the young boy, renewing his life.
He continued on his travels,
coming to a village, rejoicing in festivities,
a woman adorned in clothing, of such a lady of the night.
She attempted to stir him in emotions, in lieu of trade,
she discovered the kerchief within his pocket.
His lonely heart, perhaps yearning, but not weak.
He turned her away, and continued.
Passing years, living the simple man’s life,
growing in much more knowledge.
He came upon his trousers, without hesitation, reached inside the pocket,
he found the gold medallion,
it had glistened brightly like the sun,
glowing as brightly as the flowing white that danced around her,
he remembered,
then remembered the thorn, and reached inside to grasp.
sharp as blood trickled. Quiet, so quiet.
He once again saw her face, such warmth.
She whispered into his soul, “Your heart already knows.”
Suddenly he was sitting upon the stool, realizing he had pricked his finger upon the needle,
his reality as a tailor, he took much care in the creations paying special attention, his fabric of love.
She placed a kiss upon his lips, the dress he had made for her, glowing, flowing white danced around her.
Outside his window, a young boy playing in the streets, healthy with his friends,
the breath of life, a tree, standing reaching into the clouds, surrounded in beauty of the earth.
He smiled upon her, as the medallion cascaded from her neck, gently touching upon her chest, close to her heart.
She placed her hand upon it, smiled upon him, and whispered “I love you” into his soul.

Stained Glass

You look past me, a window pane, transparent,
nearly invisible in your view,
but I contain much more than you realize,
stained glass, cascading colors in light rays of sky blue.


Every piece held close together,
unity illuminated in yellow fields reaching far
Emerald green, of forest beauty,
carrying brightness through the sun star.


The shards of glass, crackled, once broken,
merged together in their intended place,
a softened glow of peach peace,
the appearance of a face.


Flowing red, kissed of the hearts desires
the colors cascade dancing passionately in the light,
as the sun sets over the sky, touching gently orange,
the soul calming in deep purple, with the moon and stars glow in the night.


You look past me, a window pane, transparent,
nearly invisible to you,
but I am illuminated, in all the shards of glass, crackled once broken,
stained glass, cascading colors, far beyond your view.

Lava Flow

Under foot, the ground shakes, quakes,
rocks begin to tumble,
she runs, to gain ground,
trying not to stumble,
as the earth explodes,
in ash and lava flame,
in rivers of hot red anger,
and her tears fall, the ground cracks, in her name,
her heart racing wildly,
she screams out loud,
lightning strikes,
in heavy storm cloud,
she continues to run until she is out of breath,
loving much the same,
but it would not be her death.
Under foot, the ground, quiet and still,
rocks begin to cool,
she stops to think, to look upon the view,
tears began to pool,
the ground merged once again, where upon flowers grew.
The volcano became a mountain full of color in autumn leaves,
because love within her just believes.
with calmer waters flowing,
returning love much the same as hers,
somehow in the distance, a sense of knowing,
that the ground will only shake for so long, then cease,
the lightening will only strike for so long, then clouds break,
tears will only fall for so long, then dry,
kissing the storm goodbye,
love can give instead of just take,
and lava flow became a waterfall, as beautiful as true love could ever make.

Poetic Path of Undying Dreams

This path, this direction, through fields, twisted in thorny brush,
ancient ruins, carved of figures, loves, time passed, generations before me,
settling upon my soul, a sparrow, circling, landing upon my hand,
as I follow in heart, and write of these loves poetically.


I am moved backward in time, this path, this direction,
to times in unscathed earthen beds, of floral caress and the winds that carried it in heart,
long before mankind, long before battle, long before bloodshed,
to the beginning, this path, at the earth’s start.


I am moved forward in time, this path of sight in the nearing distant light,
to times where darkness is illuminated still with love,
yet likeness of stars scattered, struggling to still see them as clouds move through nightfall, tears fall,
and I follow in heart, and still of this love, I write of.


This path, this direction, through fields, twisted in thorny brush,
I stand in the present, with undying dreams, like vines climbing along the trees,
my poetic path grasps tightly, it will never be the death of a dream,
as my breath of life, will follow in spirit, in the wind, words, along the coming breeze.