Make your own free website on
Can this life get any more lonely?
Am I too old to be yearning for my parents?
I donít want to feel this way,
Why am I so lonely?
I constantly feel as though I exist
solely in the shadow of my parentsí deaths.
Am I destined to live life similar to my father?
Why am I scared?
Is it because I sometimes feel I may follow suit?
I donít want to, but does that mean I wonít?
When will I stop being so lonely?

Are you what I want?
I think so, but then I donít,
For each time youíve entered my life,
It seems youíve left double that amount.
What prevents you from wanting me?
Am I too quiet, too kind?
I can be what you want me to be.

Yet, whom am I kidding,
Iím quite set in my ways.
Our time together is over,
So Iíll now go my own way.

Forever a Part of You
Oneís love for another can become revitalized once that person is gone.
Physically gone, but not spiritually,
for they remain a part of you,
and indeed become even more a part
 of you due to their absence.
You yearn for them,
a strong yearning which, at times, fades,
but returns with even greater amplitude.
Your memories of their appearance
gradually, yet assuredly become less vivid.
But their character and presence come more
into focus revealing to you continuous glimpses
as to who they really were.
This you relate to, you look to,
and you learn from.
For they are not gone from you,
they are forever a part of you.

When Iím drowning in my tears
itís you that saturates my cheeks,
and not the ones below my waist,
behind that thing that always leaks.
(But the chubby cheeks with lots of spots)
But the cheeks with spots and lots of dots
that vanish more and more each day.

Its That Thing
Oh great, here it is again,
Itís that thing,
It comes and it goes,
I donít know when its going to come,
I only know when its here,
Itís that thing.

That sinking feeling is back again,
Itís that thing,
I suddenly become torpid,
Unmotivated, strained and sad,
An uncontrollable feeling,
Itís that thing.

But itís not really a Ďthingí,
That thing,
Itís not an object that I can fondle,
An item that can be molded,
And shaped to suit me,
That thing.

That thing is not a Ďthingí at all,
Itís an emotion,
One that I canít seem to influence,
And one I so often try to avoid,
Like all emotions itíll fade,
That thing.

In the HeavenÖ
Fear makes it quite unnatural,
To say this with much grace;
For no veil could ever conceal,
The heaven of your face.

Itís the assertion of your kindness,
The epitome of your style,
There is beauty in such excess,
In the heaven of your smile.

Felicity; as though in a dream,
A perpetual bliss of grandeur size,
This and more Iíve seen,
In the heaven of your eyes.

This Flower
This flower seems so very delicate,
So utterly fragile when it sways,
Yet breezes can not perturb it,
For itís defiant in its ways.

This flower is everything that pure,
As clean as the rain from above,
Sweetly fragranced with a natural demure,
Each petal a muse of love.

The night has a daunting task,
For this scented charm it must devour,
Yet the abyssal dark still cannot mask,
The infinite beauty of this flower.

Implicit Understanding
To see truth in a glimmering eye,
And cast a soul with unerring haste,
Gain love for which youíll always vie,
And friendship never of waste.

To see truth in a glimmering eye,
And cast a soul with unerring haste,
A heart enriched is never of waste,
With friendship always nearby.

Sometimes I feel as though you are right hereóvery close to meóand the only thing I would have to do to have you here with me is to react fast enough to reach inside a dimension that I am pretty sure exists somewhere near to me, but is hidden and damned elusive, grab a hold of you really tightly and pull hard as shit to bring you here.  My mind races as it imagines a million of these places both immediately behind and in front of me.  Could you be at any of these locals?  Or could you be at all of them at once?  I let my desire to bring you forth subside, for all is as it should be.  You there and me hereóhere with someone I love.  Someone I loveÖ