Here are some poems I've written. I want feedback, yet I don't want to talk about them. To me, poetry is the riskiest form of communication. I open a window into the deeper parts of my soul and invite you to look in. You can see aspects of my self that are invisible to me. And I am afraid of what you'll do with what you learn.

So look. But be gentle.


I don't know why I pray,
For I can't say I believe.
But hear my prayer anyway.
I know someone who might believe.
It is for her I speak.

Long ago she was damaged,
By one meant to protect her.
His shadow enshrouds her life in darkness.
Its omnipresence haunts her, torments her,
Shuts out the light of hope.

Part of her longs to break free.
Another part wants to hang on,
Choosing familiar misery before unknown happiness.
I wanted to be her healer, but I have failed.
Now I turn to you.

Help her accept her beauty and dignity.
Help her know she is worth being with, sharing with.
Help her find others worth the same,
To develop the trust destroyed so long ago,
And truly experience love and joy.

I ask a lot, I know.
Especially for one who professes not to believe.
But I ask not for myself, only for her.

I hear you work miracles.
If only I could touch your clothes...


Inhabiting shadows,
Reptilian angels
Aspire to salvation.
Compelled to explore
The depravity of the netherworld.
Always searching, often lost,
They occasionally glimpse the light,
At the core of the darkness.


I walk along the road,
Basking in the cold glare of the moon.
I feel more warmth from it,
Than from the people who surround me.

The man up there looks sad,
Like me.
So I'll send some of my warmth his way.


I stare at the caldera,
A gaping hole in the earth,
Like the one left in my soul,
When you weren't there.

Anguish poured forth like lava,
Burning, burying everything in it's path.

But it's quiet now,
Only the wind blowing
Over a desolate landscape.
Still hot, still smoldering.


I believe in the cause.
It is mine, yet it is not me.


Every now and then,
The shutters open.
A little light pours in,
Revealing something wondrous, joyous.

But quickly the shutters close,
And it is dark, imposing,
To those who never see the light.

But to those who do,
It is mysterious, beautiful . . .


Endlessly waiting.
For an appearance,
Or a word.

Nothing comes,
But unfamiliar,
Uncaring faces.

I keep waiting. . .


I stare at the lights of the fishing boats
Silently illuminating the horizon.
I listen to the murmur of the waves
Gently caressing the shore.
I feel the cool wind
Blowing softly across my body.
I wonder where you are.

The lights twinkle like stars,
But I'd rather gaze into your eyes.
The waves sound inviting,
But I'd rather run my fingers through your hair.
The wind is soothing,
But I'd rather feel your head against my chest.
I wonder where you are.

I imagine myself hugging you.
Do you feel my embrace?
I whisper your name in the darkness.
Do you hear my voice?
I send you my love.
Do you know it comes your way?
I wonder where you are.


He held before her two forms of the infinite.
First, the stars in the sky, whose light shines down
From the edges of space, time, and reality.
And second, love, whose force empowers, ennobles all.
He gave her a choice of one, or both.

But she could only comprehend the finite,
And chose neither.