A Promise of Enchantment
I cannot quite recall
What was here before
But what I do remember
Is not the same at all
My hair has turned more gray
These eyes cannot see perfect
Lines have grown across my face
Dawn to dusk in just one day
I do not seem to smile anymore
Because some teeth are gone
Replaced by ugly imitations
White outside but hollow at the core
Years uncounted have stood
There upon my welcome mat
They’ve knocked unending
So I opened and smiled back
But all I found was this
A small flower at my door
Red rose with white trim
Deeply passionate but with a twist
A promise of enchantment
Only this and nothing more

Little Drop
Little drop comes down my window
And I follow it with my finger
From the top to the lower left it slowly
Trails and winds its way
Leaning forward letting it
Sometimes disappear
In the fog that is my breath
But always knowing how to go
And how to flow with it
On it silently following
Open mouth and breath still
Coming out with the toneless song
Filled with meaningless words
Meant for me and me alone
And perhaps just one other
Who can follow that little drop
As it comes down my window
And follow it with their finger
Singing a toneless song with me
Filled with meaningless words
Meant for them and them alone
And perhaps me too.

Soul in the Strings
My fingers moving swiftly
Soul in the strings
Sadness in the chords
Enraptured faces
Hearts beating wild
Gorging themselves
Feeding on my emotion
Only making it stronger
I wield her like a wound
Heavily laden with old scars
And she can only whisper
Softly hinting at meaning
She speaks to them of pain
Of hunger and of longing
She speaks then of hopelessness
Despair and depression
Loss of control
Rage and repression
Finally, she tells of that feeling
Of being lost without bearing
Without a destination
Wandering alone
So alone and so cold
Haunting echoes of the amplifier
Signal the end of my reverie
She ends crying gently
Into the bleak night
That now seems so dreary
In the glow of the lone candle
So do they.

Perhaps
Sleepy, dreary and weary I wait
Until the fateful morn
Or perhaps it won’t be so
And not with fear
Her first reaction
Not self-hate or
Self-loathing and the tears
A kiss perhaps
Upon my lonesome lips
Then a smile soft
From a soul once wrung out
Worried
But now at rest