Who will ever tell or know

the unheard silent echoes

from passing lives laid low:

those ghosts of chanted psalms

once melodious in their praise

lie buried beneath the turf

within walls they helped to raise;

and who can see the cowled monks

whose ghostly whispered prayers

whose canticle or hymn

whispers through the evening's airs -

through the great stone entrance a...

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Hide away 
if you must. 

I don't understand 
what prompts you 
to surface anyway. 

I will do like I always do,
show up on the page,
stumble through what 
I was put on earth to do,
share my truth.

I know even though you 
fly away again and again 
to do whatever muses do, 

you will come back, 
when I least expect
and light up my soul
with your beautiful words, 
like you alwa...

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Passion consumed 
eventually fades.

Passion capped 
pursues us 

beyond the grave.

This revelation 
helps me understand,

our encounter was 
never about us.

It was about our muses
intertwined in the 

world of words.

We were denied 
the lasting passion
we searched for

so we could write 
our soul songs

for seekers 
to see

the ectasy 
and despair

that accompan...

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