Madness sweeps through,
yet you always make someone cling to you.
Love pushes right through;
sometimes I wonder why I came to love you.
Dark days pushed through.
Poetry | Stories | Photography
Madness sweeps through,
yet you always make someone cling to you.
Love pushes right through;
sometimes I wonder why I came to love you.
Dark days pushed through.
in the autumn wind
fluffy pink flowers blossom
from hidden places

When we go, the universe won’t waste our energy,
for nothing is wasted by her;
She keeps secret treasures until the time ends.
song clouds of your mind
symphonic deluge sounds
staccato love delights you
sorrowful rain is no more

Photo – C Schloe

In the aftermath
we sit wondering how it
came to be this way
a soft living hidden place,
far from materialistic eyes,
a silent another worldly place,
for natural reflective dreaming

You sit at that mahogany desk you love
diligently researching paranormal things.
You look for an answer to what isn’t clear;
sadness is cruel to your burning heart.
You miss me; I know this very, very well,
I miss you and hold on in this place still.
You held me in the last moments of life,
I remember all your words and actions.
You feel my touch, but I do alarm you so
I whisper in your ear, “Be my lungs, love.”
You look pained and move so violently
I cannot catch you as you fall from me.
You left those papers to be with me today
I’m sorry, yet it had to be this way, my love.
You see me now, but there is much horror;
I felt that way too, yet this horror will pass
you say, “It was always you here close.”
I say with conviction, “Yes. Always close.”
You look at me, and I look at you, and we see
we see the love we have for each other.

a confused sky sits
looking down at our folly
contemplating why
Your face comes to my sight
I study the beauty of you
Your face takes me into the light
I take note of your face
Your face shifts before my eyes
I slip into another place
Your ghost pulls me into the abyss
I see, then become whole again
You helped me find our light and love
I get lost at 3 am in words of you
You want me to write the story of us
I will write about when you were the Pharaoh
and
I was your gold and bronzed queen of the Nile