keeping each other's secrets sheltered and protected
tears remind us of our weaknesses and unafraid,
we parade our splendor as if our youth was present;
free to choose, we remain a prisoner of our longing,
sharing what little passion we'd allow to escape
unmolested into the back roads of our fantasies;
"just hold me," we say when our love needs
reassurance and our embrace gently nudges us into
silent acceptance that once surrendered makes us one;
avoiding when overwhelmed, our roads have always
crossed returning us to that point of origin still feared,
whose power numbs and hurts as we adjust to its magnetism;
our sensitive courage affected by troubled souls helplessly
bound like us, cries out to be released to a guiltless
existence where reality is measured in moments of
patience and like Gypsy Moths we find solitude in
our special feelings where our tears of love glance into
the fantasy our souls enjoyed... if only briefly.
December 3, 1984
Untitled
my feelings are stripped away
like the bark of an old tree,
whose purpose has been outlived
and must cast declining shadows
as the young grow from its decay;
twisting and turning, we all distort
our branches as we reach forth
to form silent partnerships with those
who understand our solitude yet
the excuses we make fall to the
ground as do the leaves when the
season announce their mortality,
and we forgive the traveler whose
journey through our forest creates
that paths that we must follow and
the leaves that cushion our steps
hide the tree bark that fell to the
ground all those many years before;
nature captures its survivors in
graceful symmetry and we are
sheltered by its soft sounds and colors;
our minds like the hollow of a tree
hold our memories and the winds
rustle through our thoughts as they
gently erase our pain and attempt
to refresh our lonely weariness, and
our guilt is stripped away like the
bark from some old tree whose
usefulness is a welcomed reminder
that our paths provide routes without
mazes which at times we are unable
to see and together we clear away
the rest of the fallen trees ahead.
February 20, 1984
Untitled
as we unravel the delicate fabric
from around our shoulders, we
can no longer shelter the sensitivity
that our touch commands nor can
we control the sensations that our
passion evokes, yet we suspend
willingly, our fears that gently
revolve inside the dream like
world that we have created;
imposing on each other all those
cares that we recklessly toss aside,
we reaffirm those changes that were
so easily abandoned so long ago.
March 8, 1984
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