Appeased, rested, relaxed.

Assuaged, renewed, revived.

These feelings wash over me.

I am exhausted, spent emotionally.

I am drained nicely so.

I am much lighter, for the load is no more.




I reached out my hand to touch you, but it was all wishful thinking.

A dream, or a twist of my imagination.

Your smile and warm, soulful eyes beaconed me.

I yearned to hold you, never letting go.

When you were within my grasp, you slipped away.

All I had left in my empty hands were mere wisps of smoke.

Elusive, fleeting, billowing away.

We met, and my heart was so full of my love for you.

Yes, we met, well almost met to be precise.

You were within my reach.

Within the warm embrace of my yearning arms and full breast.

Our meeting was not to be.

With barely a suckle, scarcely an embrace, it was time to part.

We said goodbye before we declared our love for each other.

I saw your love for me, and you felt my love for you.

In that moment in time.

Suspended between the beginning that never was and the end that was.

In that fragile, yet precious instant in time, I knew you and loved you, my dear baby.



Stare at this lifeless, homeless, nameless, faceless persona?

Care not, who calls, or dares come close.

Near enough to behold this anonymous, nondescript countenance.

Wanderer, vagabond, with no dwelling place, address, history?

Was born, once loved, then left to roam.

Worn out, broken, shattered, wounded.

Violated, harassed, rejected.

Shunned, discarded, dismissed.

Pulsating, thud, thud, thud.

Still alive, dead, killed? Or took a trip into total oblivion?

Still alive or stopped living?

Finishing what had already ended.

Human waste, a wasted human, or seems so?

Faceless human, nameless human, heartless human?

Heart wrenched, wrecked human.

Lost humanity left lying on the pavement.

Broken doll, wrecked puppet, shattered human.

Spurned humanity.

Has a story or had a story that went untold, into oblivion.





The fire burns high and hot for all to see.

The fire heats melts, for the lover now seen.

The fire brightens, lightens for hearts are keen.

The fire broadens, consumes for heady romance foreseen.

The fire dwindles, ebbs and cools off.

It leaves in its wake, cold ashes of bitter memories, angry demeanor, and a wounded heart.

When did the fire start diminishing?

When did the passion turn to poison?

When did the heart’s dreaming turn to dreading?

When did the warm embrace so longed for turn into strangling?

Fleeting moments.

Fleeing comments.

Teeming torments.

Screaming moments.

Fire fire.

Cool embers.

Ignite the fire.

Fan the embers.

Please kindle the fire again, for these cold ashes are killing me!




She goes down to the watering hole every time her purse is full.

She guzzles down the amber liquid that takes her to sweet oblivion.

She throws herself at any grasping, grappling, groping hands.

She opens up herself to the battering waves of deceit disguised as love.

In the quest for gentle tenderness.

She wakes up alone, an empty, barren soul.

Wrung dry of every drop of self-esteem.

She looks at her broken body, dreams, and heart.

She wonders if it will ever rain in her garden.

She longs for the soothing, steady, showers of refreshing, restoring, relieving rainfall.

She yearns for tender, gentle, warmth, acceptance and healing love.

If it still exists for the likes of her.



It made him laugh; it weighed me down.

He enjoyed the effort made to bring humour into the tragic reality of malady in life.

I let the weight of despair and a vicious cycle of the havoc caused by a lingering illness overwhelm me.

When the film came to an end, a hush fell over us.

Heavy silence on my part, light reflective quietude on his part.

We were both on the two platters of the scale, opposite ends of the measuring rod.

It is a good thing, come to think of it, because together we strike a balance.

The difference is beautiful, for our uniqueness brought together offset each other.



I have what it takes.

Do I?

They have what it takes.

Do they?

We have what it takes.

Do we?

For real?

For sure?

For a fact?

When it is all weighed;

In the balance of time and life lived.

In words kept, truth not told.

In the balance of things done, and those unaccomplished.

Where do we stand then?

Where do they stand then?

Where do I stand then?

It is easy.

It is tempting.

To ask them to justify their actions.

To live up to their standards.

To show their words in deeds.

To live up to their promises.

And me?

How do I measure up?

Without reserve.

Without  restraint.

Without a doubt.

I too must strike a balance.



You hoped for a better day but saw the dark, bleak night of clandestinity.

You hoped for the warmth of a refuge but felt the cruel, icy cold, deadly grip of the deep dark sea.

You hoped for a better future, a better life, but you sank into oblivion.

Your last breath snuffed out, without a sound, without remorse.

Your hopes dashed with violence against the Gibraltar, against our indifference.



You are noteworthy.

I am not worthy.

‘Tis and might always be so.

Sorry, it is to say, the perception thou hast,

Of my contemptible frame!





Trust me, don’t be mean.

Can’t we always come clean?

Can’t you someways not demean?

Trust us, don’t we make a good team?