Here


HERE

I wake up here, to the sweet sound of nothing
To the peace and the quiet inside my head
To a hush, hiding in the dark
In the drowsy tranquility of your bed
I get lost in the deep lull of my thoughts
In the dulcet tones of my repose
I hear the faintest echo of your breathing
as it comes, and ever so gradually goes

I hear your body move across the sheets
You graze my ear, as you touch my hair
My arm brushes slightly against the duvet
 as I reach to find you there
I feel the weight of your head upon my chest
I feel the warmth of your hand on my thigh
The silence is broken, for the briefest moment
by the contented exhale of my sigh

Here, in the calm of your presence
Here, with the ease of your touch
There is a peace, here in this quiet
And it’s telling me so much
In the comfort of our silence
Here, within this soothing serenity 
I close my eyes, and I listen,
 and Sunday morning whispers to me

If there were just a few more hours
to this perfect time of day
If only, the din of our realities
would kindly stay away
If we could just keep the afternoon
on the other side of the door
We could stay here, in the stillness
and I could hold you, a little more

No words that I need to say here
In the peace of this quiet, I know
I want to hold on to this feeling,
 and to never let it go
Here, in the comfort of our silence
There is no place I’d rather be
I close my eyes, and I listen,
as Sunday morning whispers to me

 

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Suspended

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Suspended
A wind worn branch,

reduced to a splinter.
I am a rabbit hole,
hidden beneath winter.

The morning starts out the same…
With smiles and good intentions
With energy and lofty goals
  But, the minutes are ticking
Toward the end of both
Toward the mid-day lull
Imagination grinding to a halt
Hitting the proverbial wall.

Wheels locked in place,
 gears wanting in power.
I am time standing still,
hand stuck on the hour.


The reluctant optimist,

 hopeful that there is more.
I am a tree lined road,
winding to the shore.

There is a fine line in place…
That separates good from great
That distinguishes less from more
 Potential, on the threshold of change
Sometimes it meets a path
Sometimes it’s on a ledge
The brink of a breakthrough
 Precariously near the edge.

An expanse from a destination,
 a misstep from being lost.

I am a suspension bridge,
 longing to be crossed.


The battered pitcher,
that’s been to the well.
I am the grizzled veteran,
  with stories left to tell.

Personal insights ready to be shared…
Seeing the importance of each day
Seeing the enormity of the little things
So much potential, yet to be met
Bringing along a passion for life
Bringing an open book to the table

The mind is more than willing
The body, fighting to be able.

A semi-automatic rifle,
unsure of where it’s aimed.
I am the winning lottery ticket,
waiting to be claimed.

 

 

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