Crucified.

Between thieves.

Bloodied.

Tortured.

Innocent.

His crime? The age old story.

He scared those of lesser brain.

Dared to shift his perspective to a higher plane.

A sacrifice, inevitable though tragic, a life for our lives.

And, on an exhalation of weakened breath, his final question.

"Why have you forsaken me?"

I'm still not sure I understand, or have an a...

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He is the poem I want to write.

The pleasure pain of struggling for words at one am.

Emotions bubbling, White water rushing over pebbled beach

He is my muse

Wind whipped vision at the waters edge standing tall

Smooth sculpted satin.

Watching the retreating tide and soothing my fears-intangible yet real.

Hot on my heels, he is the Hound of Hell

Dream vision in my restless sl...

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I dared him to tell me what I wanted to hear, to speak it honest and plain.

Like boxers we sparred with the words so he'd not have to say it again.

With indecent haste the years passed by, we married, loved in our way.

Still daring each other to fail with our words, we became our own casualties, day by day.

I wondered sometimes why I'd dared him, to deny true love to prove false love t...

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When inspiration flies pell mell through my head

Words flow through my fingers with rapid abandon, one upon the other

Dancing a tango across my keyboard to pirouette onto the page.

Rushing, they tumble over the yawning precipice to land in neat rows,

Straight furrows, ordered paragraphs

Thoughts and feelings and emotions bubble in the heated cauldron of my imagination

Weaving a n...

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