Category: Poetry

That feeling of touching perfection Like the poet writing the perfect line Is the most fleeting glimpse of Heaven Like that lost moment when you were mine.

I try to convince myself that you are dead now that you are in someone else’s bed.

“Use your pretty words to seduce me.” So I did. But I have no more words Because you are gone.

The underside of the clouds painted pink Against the backdrop of the periwinkle sky. The birds debating life in the trees. My feet turning over on the pavement As you turnover in my mind And someone else’s bed.

Beautiful lines Are wasted On closed minds.

Rumi entreats us to look beyond the flesh to the soul; to see light and love more than mere mortal’s ken.  A divine summons from beyond the sky, entwined beings made incarnate for now.

The hard part is the memories popping up randomly while I am working or working out or driving or running or writing or anything because you were my everything.

If you were to look back you’d see the wreckage and further back      our love.

The greatest torment of The Fallen Is the lingering memory of Heaven.

I used to send you:      -pictures of the sunset      -cupcakes       -flowers       -my love. You sent me to Hell.