In twilight's hollow, where shadows play,
I find myself lost, in a heart's gray day.
A soul once afire, with love's pure flame,
Now flickers faintly, in loneliness's cold frame.
In secret gardens, where memories reside,
Our laughter echoes, a haunting, mournful tide.
The ghosts of our whispers, the shadows of our past,
Torment my waking, and forever will last.
Like autumn's leaves, our love withered away,
Leaving me to wander, in a desolate gray.
No warmth of your touch, no gentle summer breeze,
Only the echoes of what we used to be.
In this limbo, I search for a way to escape,
From the prison of longing, the weight of heartache.
But like a migratory bird, lost in endless skies,
I'm left to navigate, the dark and lonely sighs.
So here I'll remain, suspended in time,
A heart forever trapped, between love and loneliness's chime.
AS I GO ABOUT MY BUSINESS
As I go about my business, dazed by
The stultifying immediacy of it all,
How can I reach out to what I once had
Before the great sadness overwhelmed me
In its grey cloud? Do I wait patiently,
Trusting the morning sun will melt
The frozen wastes, covering the truth
Of my natural landscape? I believe I have
No choice but to linger in the foothills,
As I relearn the ways of inner peace
In the cold frame of inexorable time.
I have my hands tight-fisted to protect myself;
Perhaps I need to open them out
To new possibilities where I can see
That kindness easily draws within,
Embracing the broken heart,
And shows that love can be rekindled.
"Green House of the Sick Man"
Imagining the lush, trickled and tickled
By spray of light thoughts, my healing possibly
To be that clover in full bloom again
My body looked more like onion weed
I wished for the irrigation from the botanist
These thoughts, they want to crop up as
He taps on both my knees, offering some advice
"You won't sprout from your bed for a couple days.
Don't forget ventilation, open those windows. "
My cold frame was evidence I had not been taking my pesticides
A fodder for other animals' discussions downstairs
Not ready yet, but don't put me out to pasture for them
It is my job to sell at the marketplace, rising to full radiance
Though feelings of worry might crop up, wondering
About my yield, I might yield, but never concede
I coughed up less nutrients than yesterday
Still an arable land I wish to be a legume
And be with my friends again, all peas in a pod.
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