Tears of Heaven

Sonnet soft of sifting thought,

Riled to rage against the night,

Sigh to see what eyes cannot,

To know the depths of heaven’s might.

Perchance to see the eyes of God,

Witness bequeathing of the rain,

But forget not most bitter rod,

Constrained contractions of Love’s pain.

Tainted eyes see tainted skies,

The fallen stars illuminate,

The darkest lie, a darker cry,

To hinder hinge of wisdom’s gate.

In anguish writhe our thoughts below,

But of heaven’s tears, cannot know.

Love?

Love is never so sweet as the one unrealized.

Untainted by reality’s scars and natural warping,

Pristine within imagination’s curation and care.

Where you and I have never known another,

Where our hearts are whole and untouched

By a depraved and hungry world,

And dreams are never so sweet,

As the love we have for each other.

No, there is no love sweeter than the one unrealized.

Love.

Love is never so sweet as the one realized.

Healing and caressing two hearts,

Mangled and torn

By a dark, cruel world.

Where you and I have struggled all our lives,

Simply to find one another in the end.

No, I will not find an embrace,

More perfect than your own,

And dreams will never aspire to be as sweet

As the love we have for each other.

Yes, there is no love sweeter than the one realized.

An Introduction

So this is the place where I will share some of my poems, thoughts, and maybe even a little short story every now and again, who knows? In all of this, my only purpose is to share some of the curiosities and emotions that have impacted me through writing. Some of what you will read was constructed very carefully over a span of weeks. Others were simply scrawled on a post-it note at 4:17 in the morning when I woke up and had some idea I needed to write down. In either case, however, my intention in writing is to take literary snapshots of this crazy thing we call life. I think one of the most beautiful aspects of the written language is its ability to preserve a moment of joy, sadness, revelation, or any other human experience in the confines of our words. I hope in reading this blog, you will not only gain insight into some of my experiences, but also see your own life reflected in some form or another. Thanks, and enjoy.

Moon in a Bottle

I put the moon in a bottle,

And I don’t want to let her go.

She sits there in my room,

Beautiful beyond her glow.

She sifts and shimmers in ambient grays,

She kisses me goodnight,

If life and joy were in her rays,

I’d want to be their light.

To haunt in there together,

We phantoms of the night,

To laugh and wane away,

On rivers of starlight.

But alas, she calls to me,

With purest shades of mirth,

To once again let her free,

And hover over earth.

But what of our adventures?

What of you and I?

She tells me not to worry,

She will not pass me by.

With reluctant hand and aching heart,

My tears wrap around her own,

And with final kiss of timeless breath,

To the night sky she has flown.

Sometimes I will remember,

As I walk along the shore,

The times we had together,

Of love I know no more.

But silver light of my darling lost

Beckons me above,

And amidst the stars I hear her call,

“For you I shine, my love.”

99

Ninety-nine and less than fine,

Hour like the second strikes;

Half of eye and whole of tongue,

From the rag of bliss is wrung,

Drop by drop a seething flood

Marked by hopes and sealed by blood;

Morning beats in crimson red,

Breaking hearts of troubled bed.

See you now why the birds soar,

Knowing death knocks at our door?

Watch a way to fall so high,

Learn you well, plunge to the sky,

See you there the stars collide,

Passing where the darkness hides;

Fill a life with empty space,

Watch it run an endless race;

Batting eyes on sandy shore,

Beat, to bear, to shine no more.

The Hours are Ours

The hours are hours my dear, and nothing more.

They tick away with the monotonous certainty of a measured and quantified drone;

plodding on in a somber procession,

never-ending as they urge us on to old age and dusty retirement homes.

But let's break from this desolate parade;

let's be free of the odious yoke of the clock.

Let's run free in the sunlight that is a life lived apart

from the reign of regulation and the tyranny of time.

Come with me

and find joy in the little things.

We'll walk every path we come across;

we'll stop and wonder at every marvelous work of art nature has to offer

and never give a care to how or when we will return,

or perhaps, if we ever want to.

We'll cross a thousand streams and see a thousand sunsets,

each one more beautiful than the last.

All the while,

your hand in mine,

we'll experience wonders which we had never before dared to dream.

Each step we take brings a new adventure,

each breath we breathe, new life.

We'll remember what it's like to live.

We'll remember what it's like to love without reserve.

We take our journey through the streets, to our homes;

it follows us so long as we allow it,

so long as we pursue it.

A life lived how it was created to be lived:

in love, in hope, without fear, through pain, through joy, through the dull.

The decrepit remains of a measured life fall by the wayside

as we stride on to a life lived in full.

Take hold of the life you've been given and make time the instrument of change for the better.

The hours are ours my dear, and nothing more.