Shorts #3

We have the tools, we know just how

to shape them, work them, and refine.

Squares and circles are chiseled down

Any peg may fit each hole.

But wouldn't it be better?

Wouldn't it be fine?

If we just left them all alone.

Shorts #1

The spit swirls down the shower drain 

a mesmerizing maze of bubbles and slime
but I have a feeling as I gaze at the spins
it shouldn't have been there to begin with.

Blue Bonnets

Well I think I'd like to thank you

but maybe curse you first.

A cold clear drink of water

but not enough to quench the thirst.

You showed me what was possible

then took it all away

and I'll never quite get over wishing

things could've stayed the same.

--

Not every story has a happy ending

nor every tragedy so quite impending.

So there's nothing left to do but sit and sing 

and think about blue bonnet fields in spring.

--

It didn't take too long for me

to fall in love with you.

There's no simple explanation 

for how quick the feelings grew.

It crashed on me and tossed me round

like waves on sun-beat sand.

I stumbled in foolheartedly

to your temporary hands.

--

Your majesty amazed me, 

your wonders never ceased.

Our time apart has brought me war, 

where once you brought me peace.

Not every story has a happy ending

nor every tragedy so quite impending.

So there's nothing left to do but sit and sing 

and think about blue bonnet fields in spring.

--

The deepest darks devour

all the lights of solemn days; 

a clashing cataclysm of

both predator and prey.

Tis worse to have lost a love

you'll never have again,

than to live in blissful ignorance

in the time of what had been.

--

Now you're gone, and blue bonnets cease to bloom.

The Texan fields I used to roam are Virginia mountain gloom.

And you're gone, but you made me love you first.

I'm thankful for the loving days, but spiteful of the thirst.

and I pray this story has a happy ending

for the tragedies just never stop impending.

I've got nothing left to do but sit and sing 

and think about blue bonnet fields in spring.

--

Joined Hands

We rarely pick our story's start, less often how it ends.
When following the asphalt lines, we flow through straights and bends.

Folks pass on by our hearts and minds like wind-swept shifting sands,

but love is born in moments dear, when two stop and join hands.

To some love is a melody they swear they know from birth

to others it's a flower grown, coaxed softly from the earth.

It's lightning in the darkest skies and laughing, tearful eyes.

Love is something powerful, it shines still when it hides.

For the hearth of lovers' union grants warmth from blizzard's snow,

smoothing out untrodden paths, no matter where they go.

Embraced in times of comfort, whether solemn-borne or glee,

in the heartbeats of a moment, there'll be everything to be.

The darkest of life's shadowed mirk may pale in lovers light.

Love may stoke the fires of pain and yet still settle every fight.

Love's the tight rope balance thrill but the safety net below.

It's a feeling often read and said, but you know just when you know.

Every mountain meets a valley but each valley another side.

Love is full of passion stoked by fear and hope and pride.

Burdens may befall us all, so heavy we can't stand,

but your love was born from moments dear, when you stopped and joined hands.

For in every challenge you may face, your love can still withstand.