Brown eyes to blue eyes/
The lies from your youth/
Sown in malice by others/
You've dispelled them with truth.
You've learned a respect/
For the challenges I face/
The struggle life can be/
Because of my race.
Brown eyes to blue eyes/
I know the ease you gave up to be with me/
To honor a culture in which you've never been/
The choices you've made, the challenges you've faced/
You've done with a heart filled with love/
A soul full of grace.
Oh in this moment/
Which our great love provides/
We stand together, hearts in hand/
With nothing left to hide.
And here between us/
As the world fades away/
Our joined souls are mended/
The love we've made is here to stay.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Empire Of Sand
Every now and again, I have to write something down in order to release it. Otherwise, my mind tumbles endlessly in an unending circle. This is one of those moments.
I've been spending my weekends with my great love and it's been raining reletlessly. Yet for some reason I keep thinking about and dreaming of deserts. Before I reconnected with Mark, I had a brief affair with a man who I loved and loved well.
He ended it as fast as he started it and left me to wonder why. I learned a lot from this fleeing moment of affection. I learned to stand my ground and not settle for a partial heart.
I am so glad I did, because I now have the love of my life with me. Yet I've not been able to completely release my past. This poem I think will finally allow me to vanquish the angst I still feel. At least I hope it ends the dreams of desert scapes I've been having.
Mirage
Even sand is fertile.
Given enough water,
The desert will bloom.
I poured all of my love into you.
Dehydrated myself from the effort.
Blistered my soul in the heat of your self loathing.
My reward for the effort?
A carpet of amethyst.
Cyan and topaz coat silcone.
And for a brief moment,
A barren waste sparkles with the jewels
Of an indian summer.
It was glorious.
But like all desert blooms,
It was fleeting.
I should have known.
Your false words,
Your obsidian promises,
It was all illusion.
Your love was not the oasis,
It was purported to be.
It was all a trick of the mind.
An artfully crafted
Mirage.
You are as empty and barren,
As the lowest point,
On
This
Orb.
A valley where you left my love to die.
I'm not pouring anymore of my love,
Into the granulated glass void that is your soul.
I'm leaving you to rule Your desolate, dessacated, dry,
Empire.
Alone and bereft.
Just as you wished.
But not as I planned.
Alone.
With your scorpions, snakes and
Sand.
I've been spending my weekends with my great love and it's been raining reletlessly. Yet for some reason I keep thinking about and dreaming of deserts. Before I reconnected with Mark, I had a brief affair with a man who I loved and loved well.
He ended it as fast as he started it and left me to wonder why. I learned a lot from this fleeing moment of affection. I learned to stand my ground and not settle for a partial heart.
I am so glad I did, because I now have the love of my life with me. Yet I've not been able to completely release my past. This poem I think will finally allow me to vanquish the angst I still feel. At least I hope it ends the dreams of desert scapes I've been having.
Mirage
Even sand is fertile.
Given enough water,
The desert will bloom.
I poured all of my love into you.
Dehydrated myself from the effort.
Blistered my soul in the heat of your self loathing.
My reward for the effort?
A carpet of amethyst.
Cyan and topaz coat silcone.
And for a brief moment,
A barren waste sparkles with the jewels
Of an indian summer.
It was glorious.
But like all desert blooms,
It was fleeting.
I should have known.
Your false words,
Your obsidian promises,
It was all illusion.
Your love was not the oasis,
It was purported to be.
It was all a trick of the mind.
An artfully crafted
Mirage.
You are as empty and barren,
As the lowest point,
On
This
Orb.
A valley where you left my love to die.
I'm not pouring anymore of my love,
Into the granulated glass void that is your soul.
I'm leaving you to rule Your desolate, dessacated, dry,
Empire.
Alone and bereft.
Just as you wished.
But not as I planned.
Alone.
With your scorpions, snakes and
Sand.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Sonoma
For Mark
It was here amidst the jade vale and a sea bound river
I was found.
Here where ancient Gravenstien orchards yield to youthful
Chardonnay vinyards.
Here where sequoias, acacias and oaks
meander along a quiet horizon.
Here where the North Coast savannah
spills into the sea.
My heart was like that savannah in summer.
yellowing in the unslaked heat,
tinder dry oak chapparal, barren and burnt.
Left blackened by carless stewards
who chose the match over water.
I resolve in my oaken solitude,
That this,
this at last is the future that awaits.
A quiet, acornless autumn and winter season.
I am content with my aloneness.
Peace at last finds me.
In your art I find solace.
Your music that gripped my young heart,
still calls.
Beckons. Beseeches.
Come dance.
And I do.
And you are there.
You are there,
with eyes the color of sky.
You are there as you have always been.
Alive in my heart,
my unspoken love.
My fondest hope.
You who I loved like a dream.
You who I loved before I knew you.
You who I loved when you came to me,
one promise too late.
You stand before me.
You tremble in my arms as we
waltz.
You fix me with a gaze
and at last I know.
Your love matches mine,
and always has.
My savannah is green now.
Verdant from the healing
showers of your love.
Daffodils and Hyacinth bloom
in a late North Coast winter.
You my thoughtful gardner borne here by some cosmic
caretaker, you tend me well.
I can't help but think,
your love is like those Sonoma sequoias.
An evergreen, ageless wonder that sweeps me heavenward.
Lifting me from my earthbound perdition.
I soar into a sky
the color of your eyes.
Swept to a zenith from which I will never descend.
A rarified stratosphere that is our
love.
It was here amidst the jade vale and a sea bound river
I was found.
Here where ancient Gravenstien orchards yield to youthful
Chardonnay vinyards.
Here where sequoias, acacias and oaks
meander along a quiet horizon.
Here where the North Coast savannah
spills into the sea.
My heart was like that savannah in summer.
yellowing in the unslaked heat,
tinder dry oak chapparal, barren and burnt.
Left blackened by carless stewards
who chose the match over water.
I resolve in my oaken solitude,
That this,
this at last is the future that awaits.
A quiet, acornless autumn and winter season.
I am content with my aloneness.
Peace at last finds me.
In your art I find solace.
Your music that gripped my young heart,
still calls.
Beckons. Beseeches.
Come dance.
And I do.
And you are there.
You are there,
with eyes the color of sky.
You are there as you have always been.
Alive in my heart,
my unspoken love.
My fondest hope.
You who I loved like a dream.
You who I loved before I knew you.
You who I loved when you came to me,
one promise too late.
You stand before me.
You tremble in my arms as we
waltz.
You fix me with a gaze
and at last I know.
Your love matches mine,
and always has.
My savannah is green now.
Verdant from the healing
showers of your love.
Daffodils and Hyacinth bloom
in a late North Coast winter.
You my thoughtful gardner borne here by some cosmic
caretaker, you tend me well.
I can't help but think,
your love is like those Sonoma sequoias.
An evergreen, ageless wonder that sweeps me heavenward.
Lifting me from my earthbound perdition.
I soar into a sky
the color of your eyes.
Swept to a zenith from which I will never descend.
A rarified stratosphere that is our
love.
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