Blind Trust

The cold of winter holds my heart Though spring is close at hand, In fear that rips my world apart Though hope is in command. A tiny seed of hope has come And I have no control To make it grow or come undone But let it feed my soul

Anastasia

The darkness in the morning first holds out As fierce as night in triumph holds my soul Hostage. I love stars for all their light Hope comes in dawn to fill the darkest holes And hollows in the universe. The morn Shakes firmly out the tendrils  of the night And

Flesh and Stone

I wish I had a heart that's after yours. I wish I was more patient, soft, and kind. I wish my spirit walked in step, forbore The harshest suffering with peace of mind. But the process is painstaking slow Than ever it has been in me so far.

Poetic Irony

This is the time I craved. The quiet I so sought. I know the world goes in a blur And I for now do not. But here in peace and sunshine The smell of lilies white I hold my pen aloft, and then, I cannot seem to write. This is

Dip the Pen

The fact is, this is not the same As once it was; the magic ink Stirs less of me as time leaves lines So deeply carved in me. I think The beauty may be lost for now The muse steps forward, takes her bow; But here I write Despite, despite