I pretend ...
That I can live forever -- that Time
Has no puissance but that which I afford Him --
And so, I can wait, I can be happy tomorrow,
Sleep is for the dead; but its ghosts haunt my waking ...
I feel ...
Too much -- too deeply to be directionless,
Too real for imagining, and yet the familiar eyes
Hold nothing of recognition -- only my reflection --
A meeting of shadows in sunlit glass;
I touch ...
The downy wings of hope, in wonder,
In reverence, in need, in hunger;
Alas, it burns my fingers as a flame,
A sacrilege, self-defined ...
I worry ...
That I am alone; that in my longing
I have forsaken all -- but oh, what reward,
What smile divine should light the path to freedom --
And how can I but heed the siren's call?
I yearn ...
For having too much, for fear of bursting,
And then, when by the pouring of my soul
I lie, a vessel emptied, I cry again
For what was had, and lost;
That life is what you make it,
That sometimes, the coat of many colors
That marks your triumphs brightly, blends only
To loneliest of grey ...
That we are made by life, shaped,
Broken, perhaps -- unmade and voided --
But always, the core of us remains, waiting
With only faith, with trust, to be reborn;
Of bluest waters, reaching
With unnatural hands toward the faded sky,
Of dolphins that wander in seas without limits,
Carrying me water-breathing past corals and clouds ...
I try ...
To lead by example, knowing
That merely the telling holds no power;
A gift of giving is merely a day, while
A gift of knowing spans forever;
I hope ...
That my darkness holds you gently,
That pain is halved by sharing, that feeling
Wields nothing past the words it summons,
Except that it touch you with only healing ...