Poems

This house, Yes, a treasure chest of sounds, Creaking noises, White lights, Experiences Calling every hair to attention. Even in midday. Today I thought I heard a door opening, But when I looked, Only the breeze Playfully announcing Its wistful presence. Today, I thought I smelled your cologne, But when I looked,  Only the curtains Slowly dancing With the wistful breeze, Spreading The gentle lingering remnants Of Your obsession, Perhaps my obsession. Today, I thought I heard footsteps, But when I looked, Only footprints Like the ones forever softly Embedded in my heart. Oh, how I miss you.

EASTER Mary was a lover. Running to the tomb, She was missing Him, Never expecting In her wildest dreams To see him there Alive. So be a lover. Run.   Run, Missing your Beloved. Run, Always expecting In your wildest imagination To see the Beloved there Alive.   The other day will come Too soon. So run.   And so I run, my Love, To rise with you Each and every day.   I run, my Love, To live with you Each and every day I run, my Love, To love with you Each and every day. Yes, The other day will come Too soon. So I run, my Love.