The Box

A beautiful box placed on her pillow
engraved with his constant promises;
coated with His golden rules.

A small latch keeps something inside.
Her finger’s loving touch breach an opening;
the scent of escape flees, the gold falls as dust
and the engravings fade as vapor.

A beating heart revealed inside nestled
within his written note that reads:
“I’m sorry.”



The night consumed by silence;
presence has disappeared with the days.

Sleep becomes the hope; the heart
absorbs what the mind could not endure.

The air becomes cold and heavy upon the lungs;
the pillows stained from someone’s tears.

Death appears in a dream; unspeakable
words echoes in the darkness.

The morning sun casting faint shadows;
memories hovering in the room.

Spirits of “what was” forever tethered
to “what is” left of our souls.



Nightmares confuse my days!

My body aches from the constant
push of collecting demands.
Yeah, some heavy shit needs to fall
off my shoulders;
the weight of monkeys
hanging on my kindness.

That feeling of suffocation,
crowded by the overpopulation of
intrusive minds.
I offer a sacrifice for
a momentary reprieve;
realizing I must shake the dust
before I enter holy ground.

My heart is listening
to the tapping of beads
parted by clean hands baptizing
a dirty spirit.

The beats of contemplation
within a groovy mood’s cascading flow;
I sit next to burning incense
to inhale deeply,
some sweet meditation.