Rage

Red and roiling
Bubbling, boiling
Seething and churning
Blinding and burning
I see those eyes staring and fierce
Death is poised my soul to pierce
Mouth a grimace
A yearning furnace
Grin like a jackal's
My breath locked in shackles
This is what I see
When anger appears I flee
Even in smallest degree
In fear I raise my plea
Don't kill me!

Wrong Again

Wrong
Again
Still
Always
Evermore
I am faced, once more, with the question
Of failure
Of accusation
Of the end.
From darling to dolt
From lover to liar
From cherished to chastised.
I know I have much to learn
About relationship
About about giving of myself
About comprehending and decrying my shortcomings
Why oh why
Do I fail to see my wrongdoing
I believed this beyond my control
This change
This inability to perform as promised
Yet I hear only
Hurt
Devastation
Broken trust
Lying
The promise never to quit
Or give up
Tossed aside as readily as unwanted junk mail
It seems no time
Is more to be desired than some time.
I have done my best to honor another life
Other desires
Other plans
To be sure I am not a taker
To leave intact the hard won accomplishments
To never inflict myself
And now I am a con
And liar of first degree
Unaccountable
Giving short shrift
Choosing another first
Overwheming pain
Fear
Doubt
Invalidate my own
I wonder
How do I respond
Bitter words
Anger
Hurt
Lie ready at the tip of my tongue
And so I avoid
Remain silent
Silence is better than words I may regret
My only defense against haste
The biting of my tongue
Separates
Divides
Wounds further
I hurt and cannot say it
I am wronged and cannot show it
I do not have a side
A point
I can only apologize for who I am
A hurter
A liar
A failure
Once again

Words

The graceful skill of a well-turned phrase
Whether poetry or prose
Is a grace well loved by all mankind
But 'specially dear to those
Who labor with the pen
And who hope somehow to find
A tale hid within a rose
To entertain the ken

They labor long over word and rhyme
Endeavoring to tell,
How scent so sweet to thrill the soul
It's color on the swell
Of petal, soft within the bud
The softness of the whole
And there entreat to dwell
In red as deep as blood.

Within the soul lies fire that burns
An incendiary star
It's light to shine within the dark
Brilliant more by far
Than most any word before
On the page, it lights its spark
It leaps within the jar
Lightning caught once more

With careful strokes of pen to page
Glistening with hope
The sweat of brow, the shout of heart
Reaching out to grope
For words with which to tell
What loving does impart
Unseen 'til now the scope
Oh, how to tell it well.

Yearning

This is not hunger.
That gnawing,
Aching,
Emptiness that seeks
To be satiated, then forgotten.
Though hunger, I feel.
This is not thirsting.
That pleading,
Burning,
Quality that calls
For quenching, and is relieved.
Though thirsting, I understand.
This is not lust.
That pulsing,
Pulling,
Longing that pleads
Release, and is replete.
Though lusting, I have realized.
This is not affection.
That beckoning,
Caring,
Infatuation, that signals
Tenderness and may be withdrawn.
Though affection, I have realized.
This is deeper, truer, than any of those.
This embodies all I feel,
All I am.
This is a wanting that is never exhausted.
This is an unbroken inclination to seek your heart,
Your soul,
Your very being.
This is devotion to a new history.
This is an aspiration to a better, brighter, existence.
This is devotion to a nascent reality that can only be brought forth
By your hand
Holding mine,
And walking the path of life together.
This is desire.
This is love.