I bask upon our memories of stories told and fully lived. I now feel the silent distance, of how we were and what now is. I ask a simple question. When did this all happen? Both in our initial meeting and how we faded…to disappearing. “We” were somehow lost in between. © EN, All Rights … More Passing By…
In wondering why the world is the way it is. You ask God to show you the way. Why are so many people poor? He then opens a special door. Oblivious to how He sometimes handles things, you find yourself just short of funds. Worrying, anxious, can’t sleep at night. The following day-your company will … More Asking God Why…
The river is heightened by Spring’s snow melting, as citizens worry of flooded streets closing; cumbersome ride to work… © EN, All Rights Reserved
Sometimes you’ll see a silly grin across my face; that is because I’m in a place and you, cannot participate. It’s merely for my soul… © EN, All Rights Reserved
The clouds must be angry or could it be sad… The snowflakes are falling they’re huge and they’re fast. I’ve never before, seen this abnormal size, like white falling feathers from the heavenly skies; it’s as if they’ve been finely chopped, into thirds, as they softly drop. Big I have seen, but this, quite a … More Feather-like Snow
In high demand when one can’t sleep. I get turned on so you can see. You read, you write, (or maybe type). Sometimes I’m on throughout the night. Insomnia—until daylight. © EN, All Rights Reserved
Imagination idled creating its own scenes, and every time I see your face you’re looking right at me. My ears hear things I didn’t know existed once before, you’re singing songs I’ve never heard; my name has been adored… © EN All Rights Reserved
I dance my way through emotional pain. Many would say, you’re masking it. I respond, “no—I’m not letting it seep in.” I am the one who must control its might; and dancing is the way I fight. All the anguish that tries to settle in. I refuse to let it win. So I dance, and … More Heart of the Mind
Wonderful are hours that are spent with you. © EN, All Rights Reserved
It’s almost March, dreading one last storm. A white winterland, to quickly forget. © EN, All Rights Reserved
