Often my thoughts drift away,

-To quietly dream of another day.

Full of people, short and tall

-Separated by halls and walls.

They all wish, they all dream

Perhaps, over tea while watching the steam.

All keeping secrets never to be told,

-Guarding them with a hold that’s bold.

With ease and grace, they gracefully drink.

-Speaking riddles -never bridging the link.

Their hearts never warming up within,

I’m afraid the bridge will never mend!

Silently Strumming Surreality’s Cord

Sightless eyes perceive the world

-As no other eye can see.

Even in blindness, one may see

-The sludge of society’s tea.

The steam perpetuates

A numbing pain

That can shut a door.

It’s a wrenching pain

That silently strums

-Upon surreality’s cord.

No matter the rhyme or reason,

The emotion is all too real.

We’ll find at times

We’re all alone and

On our own must deal.

Often, it’s pain and grief

That spawns both greed and hate.

We as humanity

Must learn to forgive

-Before it’s too late.


Man may offer

The world

-A single glimmer of hope.

It’s but through love and tolerance,

We may rebuild a better life’s rope.



Alas, the time grows darker.

And we shall leave a marker.

A story of our life long past,

In our children we have cast.

Our way of life is breed within.

And we have been taught to defend.

All we have learned and understand,

Is inherited and left for man.

In hopes that we, together alone,

-Can make a change of greater tone.

For our children’s lives need hope,

To rebuild a stronger life’s rope.



My heart aches with tearful memories of you.

Your loving ways were all I ever knew.

The day you left me, forever alone,

I was far too young to have ever known.

The world embraced such cruel and harsh ways.

And I’d find myself vulnerable one day.

The small woman-child, you knew me to be,

The one who use to bounce upon your knee,

Has learned overtime to grow within,

And for myself, I’ve learned to defend.

There’re times at night when I hear your voice.

I lie and sleep on a pillow that’s moist.

Tears of despair, I remember your face.

Knowing that I shall forever hold you,

-Within my heart’s -special and secret place.




When the blanket of night slowly descends,

The grain of our lives inadvertently bends.

During this hour of raw stripped emotions,

We’re able to shun our inhibitions.


For as the tide goes out claiming its prize,

He must not forget that he too has ties.

It’s this link of love and hatred that bonds,

That leaves us unsatisfied as we long.


Dreaming we all live; longing we all die,

Waiting for answers never knowing why,

It has been this way since the dawn of time,

Since man began his laborious climb.




What memories of love could the great oak tell?

-if only she would willingly speak.

Would she tell of two lover’s passion?

-that led their hearts to greater highest.

Or, would she speak of the small children?

-whose friendship kindled an everlasting love.


Within her trunk, under the bark,

-One would find her life’s vain.

It stems out in all directions.

-Recording histories of love.

For every leaf the great oak grows,

Is proof a friendship has blossomed.


So, when you sit under her protective arms,

-Hand-in-hand with your friend or lover.

The love you show to one another,

Is that which makes a love grow stronger.

I implore, remember the great oak,

-she too needs your love and respect to flourish.


She’ll always be your loving friend…

-And listen to your heavy heart.

She will never sever the ties…

-That willfully makes friendship strong.

She is a wondrous creation…

-That deserves to stand proud and tall!




The coming of horror is at our feet.

Mankind shall go out in the final met.

Death will ride dangerously on a leaf,

-And death will befall us upon a reef.


What man has cleverly created,

-Shows us as humans have only hated.

Our words are spoken in anger to hurt;

-And are often buried deep in the dirt.


Time’s been allowed to slip into the past.

Lives have been tossed far too frequent and fast.

All for the sake of man’s lost true knowledge,

-That teeters back and forth over a ledge:


We are all too proud in our lives to see,

The death and destruction we cannot flee,

We have not learned from our distant past,

It’s our very lives we alone have cast.

Burning Embers


          The sky is listless this morning, void of color as I peer out the dust-covered window.  A breeze blows across the dry golden-brown weeds.  I watch as they sway and swirl in the fields.  Through the passage of time, I have watched the luminescent sun set and rise in the bleak sky with longing.  I miss the laughter that once filled the air.  Memories of children at play burn through my thoughts and consume my restless dreams.  I had a purpose when they were here, but the toys have been hushed and the walls silenced.  The worn and cracked brick chimney is an empty place that houses cooled embers.  They are a constant reminder of a time long past.  My chest rises and falls with each breath I take.  My body shudders.  I sigh because I am left here alone to live my life in a sanctuary of solitude, which shrouds me in silence.

Memories, the life vein of my world invade my conscious mind. Susie’s pink and white sundress sway in my mind’s eye.  When I close my lids, I visualize the cotton fabric as it swishes in the air.  She twirls around the manicured lawn under the golden afternoon sun.  Her laughter fills the air and makes my heart swell with love and affection.

Sammy’s new blue sled, the one he hurt his knee on during the first snow of the season now stands faded against the wall.  Vivid memories of his boyish laughter echo through my thoughts.  My lips curl upward into a smile as I recall his delicate head tilted back.  With his mouth wide open, he enjoys the taste of each unique snowflake that dances in the air.  They melt upon his pink tongue.  I sigh then take in a deep, long breath.  My chest constricts as my heart breaks into a thousand shards.   It does not help to scream because my cries of anguish fall upon an empty valley at the foot of the hills.

I ponder the question, “Am I truly alone?”


My heart quickens and my mind races with anticipation, “Hello,” I cry out.  My voice is dry and cracks.

“Eee errr Eeee errrrr.”

My ears twitch.  They strain to locate the cause of the single sweet sound that breaks through the silent afternoon air, but soon I am let-down by a familiar sound.  The floor shifts and groans in response to old age.

My heart is heavy laden with the burden I carry like armor on an injured knight in battle.  I suck in the dry air, sigh once more, and state, “I am truly alone!”

Wistful thoughts cloud my mind.  Cherished memories rush forward like a flood on the shore of a beach at high tide.  I remember.  I remember the town up the road.  The jubilant voices and sounds of life perfectly orchestrated into a classical piece of music. My mind takes me back, back to another time.

          Mr. Jensen’s painted pony, Ms. Penny, prances down the single lane road.  She pulls the wooden wagon.  The wheels roll in the deep groves.  They wear down the ruts even further into the yielding earth.  The wagon stops in front of the feed store.  Ms. Penny bobs her Appaloosa spotted head up and down.  She neighs for the attention, which she knows will be showered upon her with unconditional love.

          Little Susie emerges from the heavy wooden doors of a shop.  Her cheeks are rosy, and her skin is white as snow.  The honey-kissed curls on top of her head bounce in the wind as she skips gracefully down the wooden stairs.  She stops in her tracks.  Then, she turns around and runs back up.

          “Bye, Olivia,” little Susie says.  She opens her arms out in front of her for a hug. “I had fun.”

          “Me too,” replies a brunette little girl dressed in a plain poka-dotted dress.  Her slender hand waves a red, juicy apple in the air as she giggles.  “It’s for Ms. Penny.”

          “Ms. Penny,” Susie says in a sing-song voice.  She takes the apple from Olivia’s hand.  Her voice is sweet, like the fragrant smell of the fresh flowers growing down the in the valley. 

          “Come, Susie,” her father says.  The corners of his lips curl upward into a big smile.

          “Oh, please, Papa.   I must first give Ms. Penny her treat.  I promised her this morning.  I promised.”

          Ms. Penny’s nose sniffs out the delectable red apple.  Susie holds her hand out for the painted pony to nibble gently on the succulent smelling fruit.  When the pony is finished, Susie adjusts the leather harness as she combs the silky mane down around Ms. Penny’s ears with her fingers. 

          “Mama is waiting for us.  She and Sammy have something special for you.”

          Susie’s dress swishes as her father picks her up.  She squeals in delight, “Papa is it for me? Is it just for me?”

          He embraces her.  Strong arms hold her, and he says, “Yes.  My Little Susie!  It is for you.”

          Her lashes flutter as she lowers her head and smiles.   A thin shadow casts across her warm rosy cheeks as she says, “I want to blow out my candles this year.  Please, Papa.  Please, tell Sammy I am big enough this year.  I can do it all by myself.  I can blow out all five.”

          “We will tell him, my dear,” Papa replies as he sits little Susie down on the worn seat of the buggy.  In one fluid motion, he climbs up and sits next to her.

My memories shift, and I am once again brought back to the reality of the cold, harsh world.  The one that I am forced to face alone.  With a heavy heart, I file my memory of little Susie in my vault of thoughts and wipe away a single, solitary tear.

The day my life forever changed was marked and marred by the silence that led to the ghastly ghost town down the road.  I watched in horror as each and every individual life force faded into oblivion.  The life I once warmed with the crimson glow of my flame flickered and slowly burned out.  Fear consumed me back then and now makes my heart race and beat erratic.  Life, it has all been but extinguished.   I miss my family.  I miss little Susie.  I miss Ms. Penny, Sammy, Mama, and Papa.  They were all part of me, my one single reason to live and burn bright for all to see.

I am not exactly sure when I became one, independent of my family, my colony.  Void of community, fully self-aware.  My flame, it still flickers.  It dances to the memories of a better time.  In tears, I weep alone and in desolation.   On the valley below the hills, I live with the cold embers.   I am a single vestige of fire that longs to burn bright once more; I am the last flickering survivor of the black plague.

The End!