Will

Silence speaks in words we never can,

For the message that is sea borne,

Has a will that is not its own.

Words does the universe witness,

Does a loving heart heed it though?

Lives have been and days will be,

Stories made and in time undone,

Promises made and in time ravaged,

What are we but pebbles in the grind,

A peck of love, a whisper in the wind.

Merci

I feel not like a poet

At the chirping birds,

the surging seas,

The rising sun,

the settling breeze !

The divine spark is not for me,

I carry a selfish self,

A lonely man and a lonely heart,

For these words will not let me see.

A different path for me,

A tunnel in the dark.

On friendship

Of sullen stares and bygone moments,

Of wistful thoughts and wry smiles,

Of crinkled foreheads and wooden noses,

Of thorns afoot before bleeding roses.

Days there were, we were naive!

Of silent love and selfish snares,

Of true fiends and sullen stares.

Of words given and promises kept,

Of trust broken and paths we have left.

Days there are when we wait!

A peck of love

Silence speaks in words we never can,
For the message that is sea borne,
Has a will that is not its own.
Words does the universe witness,
Does a loving heart heed it though?
Lives have been and days will be,
Stories made and in time undone,
Promises made and in time ravaged,
What are we but pebbles in the grind,
A peck of love, a whisper in the wind.

For a smile

And a smile to show a way,

Of angst and heartbreak.

For the smile and a cost to pay.

In dead things and white walls,

Oh and what a dash of color would say,

Define me not, learn me not,

Talk not to me but of another day.

The longer we wait,

The harder it gets,

So steep is the way to a smile,

For a life and a cost to pay.

In Repose

Of a dear old friend,
So many tales be to tell.
A few pictures and the few words,
Of forgiven love and forsaken swords.
On grand old graves we swore,
A friend forever is a friend no more,
Moments of repose forever lost,
On we go for we must.
Of old bent trees we'he heard,
By the winter so many fall,
Oh and by summer newer leaves abound,
And so does our time call.
And yet in folly we wait,
For forgotten times to be remade,
The first steps are hard to take,
And thus a destiny we fake.

Friday Night In The Rain

O and a cold friday night it was,
And I was walking down in the rain, 
People walking the road to home, 
Water but more washed out in the rain. 
Cold was a feeling , a  passing thought; 
A haze of smoke and mist in the rain,
Memories of old and dearly bought,
O what pain was flowing out in the rain! 

--lost the rest of it. Will need to revise the poem though.